THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 

From  the  collection  of 
Julius  Doerner,  Chicago 
Purchased,  1918. 

S&-3 

at 


TWO  KISSES; 


author  of  "from  post  to  finish/’  "a  false  start,”  " STRUCK  down/* 

“LONG  ODDS,”  “ BAD  TO  BEAT,”  “ A RACE  FOR  LIFE,”  " BREEZIE  LANGTON,” 

M BELLES  AND  RINGERS,”  “ AT  FAULT,”  “ COURTSHIP,”  ETC. 


“ Two  Kisses,”  Hawley  Smart’s  masterpiece,  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  absorb- 
ing and  fascinating  heart  romances  ever  published.  The  ladies  will  undoubtedly  devour 
it  with  the  utmost  avidity,  such  a thorough  revelation  is  it  of  the  little  arts  of  flirting  and 
gossip.  Cissy  Hemsworth,  afterwards  Mrs.  Gore,  Mrs,  Paynter  and  Bessie  Stanbury 
are  the  heroines.  Cissy  has  what  the  French  call  a past,  and  Mrs.  Paynter  is  a woman 
of  the  world,  to  whom  flirtation  comes  as  natural  as  life,  but  Bessie  is  a charming  young 
creature,  full  of  innocence,  though  spirited  and  gay  as  well.  Cissy  and  her  second  hus- 
band have  a terrible  misunderstanding  which  threatens  tragic  results,  and  Bessie’s  little 
love  affair  with  Charlie  Detfield  is  about  as  piquant  an  episode  as  the  most  exacting 
could  desire.  Claxby  Jenkens,  Mr.  Roxby  and  Mr.  Turbottle  represent  the  villainous 
element  with  marked  capability,  but  Jenkens  has  a redeeming  trait,  and  Mr.  Turbottle 
is  not  altogether  bad.  There  is  considerable  humor  in  the  delightful  novel,  and  it  is  lit- 
erally packed  with  dramatic  situations.  "Two  Kisses”  is  a romance  sure  to  please 
everybody.  The  scene  is  laid  mostly  in  London  amid  fashionable  surroundings* 


OR, 


TO 


BY  HAWLEY  SMART. 


NEW  YORK: 


THE  F.  M.  LUPTON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY, 
Nos.  72-76  Walker  Street, 


®9frYniQWv,  1883, 

By  T.  B.  PETERSON  & BBO^HHRg, 


Two  Ki&ge* 


£ L 


CONTENTa 


4 

0-> 


Q 

00 


- — 

Chapter 

I.  MAJOR  JENKENS  .... 

II.  THE  BANKRUPT’S  WIDOW 

III.  NOTTINGHAM  GOOSE  FAIR  . . 

IV.  MR.  TURBOTTLE’s  STORY  . 

Y.  MRS.  PAYNTER  AT  HOME  . . 

VI.  THE  MAJOR’S  BUSINESS  . 

VII.  HE  MUST  MARRY  MONEY  . 

VIII.  ON'  THE  VERGE  , , 

IX-  IN  THE  TEMPLE  . 

X.  THE  MISSES  STANBURY  . 

XI.  GOOD  COUNSEL  .... 

XII.  TO  WED  OR  NOT  TO  WED 

XIII.  THE  BALL  AT  ROSENEATH  HOUSE 

XIV.  WILL  YOU  GIVE  ME  YOURSELF? 

XV.  A SOCIAL  OBLIGATION. 

XVI.  A QUIET  WEDDING  . 

XVII.  ON  A BICYCLE  .... 
XVIII.  THE  MAJOR’S  MEDITATIONS 
XIX.  MRS.  PAYNTER’s  SACRIFICE 
XX.  AFTER  THE  HONEYMOON  . 


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(1) 


>96244 


Contents* 


2 


XXL 

A QUINTETTE  .... 

O 

• 

• 

111 

XXII. 

CHARLIE  DETFIELD’s  AFFAIRS  . 

• 

• 

117 

XXIII. 

WHOM  DOES  HE  COME  TO  SEE? 

• 

• 

9 

123 

XXIY. 

A FATAL  KISS  . . 

• 

. 

128 

XXY. 

CHARLIE  DETFIELb’s  WOOING 

0 

s 

133 

XXVI. 

AN  EMBARRAS  DE  RICHESSE 

- 

• 

139 

XXVII. 

THE  PUMPING  OF  MR.  TURBOTTLE 

# 

• 

146 

XX  YU  I. 

MONTAGUE  GORE  REMONSTRATES 

• 

. 

152 

XXIX. 

WIIAT  SHOULD  YOU  CALL  RICH? 

. 

• 

. 

158 

XXX. 

MR,  ROXBY  AS  A GUARDIAN 

. 

• 

162 

XXXI. 

A KISS  WITH  A STING  IN  IT 

• 

. 

168 

XXXII. 

CISSY  LEAVES  HER  HUSBAND 

» 

174 

XXXIII. 

THE  MAJOR’S  ADVICE 

. 

. 

* 

180 

xxx  r v. 

AUNT  MATILDA  SIDES  WITH  THE 

LOVERS 

184 

XXX  Y. 

WHICH  ABOUNDS  IN  PLAIN  SPEAKING 

. 

• 

191 

XXX  VI. 

BROODING  ON  VENGEANCE  . 

. 

• 

196 

XXXVII. 

AT  BROMPTON-SUPER-MARE 

. 

. 

201 

XXXVIII. 

coleman’s  ..... 

© 

• 

206 

XXXIX. 

BRINE  AND  TURBOTTLE  MEET  AGAIN 

<9 

. 

210 

XL. 

NEMESIS  . 

• 

• 

216 

XLI. 

ANALYZING  A KISS 

. 

• 

. 

221 

XLII. 

THE  MAJOR  DOES  HIS  DUTY  BY 

ROXBY 

c. 

228 

XLIII. 

MR.  ROXBY ’S  CONVERSION 

• 

• 

. 

234 

XLIV. 

THE  EXPLANATION* 

* 

• 

240 

XL  V- 

4 GAY  WEDDING  . 

* 

0 

• 

246 

^J.VL 

RECONCILIATION  . , , • 

% 

m 

TWO  KISSES 


CHAPTER  I. 

MAJOR  JENKENS. 

The  I iinford  races  are  just  over.  The  bulk  of  visitors  have  hied  them  home  by  the 
six  train,  and  the  city  generally  has  emptied  itself  of  the  influx  that  the  races  always 
attract ; for  Linford  is  a meeting  of  some  celebrity,  and  always  freely  patronized  by 
the  followers  of  the  turf.  Still,  the  city  has  not  as  yet  settled  down.  The  retiring 
tide  has  left  shallows  and  channels  behind  it  that  yet  eddy  and  ripple  in  memory  of 
the  fiei  ce  rush  of  waters. 

The  billiard-room  of  the  “ Reindeer  ” indeed  is  still  bubbling  with  excitement.  A 
somewhat  noisy  and  tumultuous  pool  is  going  on  there,  very  different  from  the  quiet 
six-penny  game  usual  among  its  habitues.  Shilling  lives  and  much  venturing  of  half- 
crowns  is  the  order  of  the  evening ; yet  it  is  easy  to  see  the  players  are  chiefly  towns- 
folk, or  young  farmers  from  the  surrounding  district,  winding  up  their  two  days*  outing 
for  the  most  part.  The  sharks,  with  keen,  avid  eye  for  the  country  minnow,  that  follow 
in  the  wake  of  most  race  meetings,  have  taken  their  departure.  Those  flashily-dressed 
men,  so  anxious  to  lay  against  everything  and  anything,  who  filled  the  room  the  pre- 
vious night,  are  no  longer  there.  Away  in  the  whizzing  special,  with  their  foul  pipes 
and  fouler  language,  in  pursuit  of  fresh  prey ; speeding  towards  London,  in  search  of 
other  victims  with  fatuous  fancies  for  backing  the  favorite,  solacing  themselves  mean- 
while with  flasks  of  strong  waters,  such  games  as  maybe  accomplished  by  the  dim  light 
of  the  carriage  lamp 

The  billiard-room  is  heavy  with  tobacco-smoke,  and  reeking  with  the  steam  of  hot 
and  strong  potations.  The  babble  and  laughter  wax  louder,  and  vociferations  to  wage 
half-crowns  are  shouted  incessantly  as  the  game  fluctuates. 

" Red  upon  green,  black  your  player,”  calls  the  wizened,  rat-like  marker  in  monoto- 
nous tone,  and  a slight,  neatly-dressed  man,  of  medium  height,  wearing  spectacles, 
advances  to  the  table,  almost  mechanically  chalking  his  cue  as  he  does  so.  He  hesi- 
tates a little  and  seems  undecided  what  to  play  for. 


4 


Two  Kisses. 


44  I’ll  take  your  two  crowns  to  one  you  don’t  hold  it,  sir,”  exclaims  a flushed,  fresh 
colored  young  man  from  the  bench  that  runs  round  the  room. 

“ If  you  like,”  replies  the  player,  44  but  I don’t  care  about  betting  — I only  play  foi 
amusement.” 

44  Come,  sir,  that  won’t  do,  you  have  picked  up  a goodish  few  of  my  half-crowns 
to-night,  to  say  nothing  of  other  people’s.” 

44  As  you  like,”  replied  the  player  again,  with  a deprecatory  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

44  He’s  got  to  the  end  of  his  nerve,  Tom,”  cried  the  young  man,  somewhat  boister* 
ously,  44  and  my  silver’s  coming  back  to  me.” 

44  I don’t  know,”  remarked  the  other;  44  he’s  seemed  a bit  nervous  all  along,  but  he 
hasn’t  missed  much.” 

44  Life  off  green,”  cried  the  marker  in  his  usual  monotone,  as  that  ball  rolled  gently 
into  the  pocket,  and  the  red  came  slowly  back  down  the  table.  “ Stroke  and  division 
Take  your  stroke,  sir.” 

44 1 don’t  know.  Yes,  I think  so.  I must  be  off  to  bed  now,  gentlemen,  so  I’ll  have 
the  shot.” 

The  hazard  he  had  just  made  was  by  no  means  a difficult  one,  but  that  which  now 
presented  itself  was.  To  be  made  undoubtedly.  What  is  not  at  billiards  ? But  cer- 
tainly not  one  that  anything  but  a fine  player  could  expect  to  accomplish  without  much 
favoring  of  fortune. 

Had  there  been  a shrewd  observer  present,  he  might  have  noticed  that  the  elderly 
gentleman,  just  before  playing,  invariably  gave  his  spectacles  a slight  hitch,  and  that 
when  he  struck  his  ball  a marvellously  keen  pair  of  black  eyes  peered  forth  below 
them.  But  there  was  little  chance  of  that  being  noticed  in  the  noisy  company.  As 
he  again  chalked  his  cue  preparatory  to  his  final  stroke,  his  former  antagonist 
exclaimed,  in  somewhat  irritable  tones : — 

44  Come,  sir,  you  have  had  the  best  of  me  all  night.  I lay  you  two  sovereigns  to 
one  you  don’t  hold  the  black.” 

41  You  cannot  expect  me  to  take  that,”  returned  the  other,  quietly.  44  This  is  a very 
difficult  stroke ; and  though  I could  play  a little  once,  I can’t  see  very  well  now.  We 
won’t  have  a bet  this  time.” 

44  Nonsense.  You’ve  won  several  times  of  me,  and  say  you’re  going.  I insist  upon 
a last  chance.  I’ll  lay  you  three  sovereigns  to  one  you  don’t  hold  it.  In  these  parts 
we  play  on  the  square,  and  always  give  a fellow  his  revenge.” 

44  Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  I don’t  play  on  the  square  ? ” retorted  the  elderly 
gentleman,  sharply,  and  bringing  the  butt  of  his  cue  angrily  on  the  floor. 

44  No,  of  course  not,”  stammered  his  antagonist,  considerably  taken  aback  by  this 
demonstration  on  the  part  of  one  whom  he  had  fancied  might  be  bullied  with  impunity. 
44 1 only  meant  — in  short,  you  ought  to  give  me  another  chance  for  my  money,  you 
know.” 

“Very  good,”  replied  the  other  quietly.  44 1 take  your  three  sovereigns  to  one, 


5 


Major  Jenkens. 

then.  But,  recollect,  I may  win,  and  if  you  can’t  afford  to  lose,  you  had  better  not 
bet.  It  is  only  school-boys  that  cry  out  when  they  lose.  What  is  it  to  fye,  sir  ? Bet 
or  no  bet  ? ” 

The  altercation  had  attracted  some  attention  in  the  room  by  this  time,  and  the  young 
fellow  on  the  bench,  who  was,  if  truth  must  be  told,  one  of  Messrs.  Cullington’s  (they 
kept  the  leading  drapery  establishment  in  Linford)  young  men,  felt  ashamed  to 
withdraw  his  offer.  lie  aspired  to  being  regarded  as  fast  among  his  compeers  — an 
ambition  that  o’erleaps  itself  in  much  higher  circles  than  his.  The  eyes  of  his  com- 
rades were  upon  him.  He  felt  it  was  impossible  to  go  back,  although  he  was  already 
impressed  with  the  conviction  that  the  elderly  gentleman  in  spectacles  would  assuredly 
hold  that  ball,  and  that  his  slender  purse,  on  which  the  night  had  already  made 
considerable  inroads,  would  be  still  further  impoverished. 

“ Of  course,  I stand  by  what  I said,”  he  at  last  replied,  sullenly,  with  that  dogged 
persistence  so  often  the  characteristic  of  men  when  they  feel  they  are  getting  the 
worst  of  it. 

“ Of  course  you  do,  Jack,”  chorused  some  of  his  friends.  “ A fellow  always  stands 
by  his  opinion  who  is  anything  like  a good  plucked  one.  Why,  it’d  be  ten  to  one 
against  Cook  himself  holding  that  ball.” 

Though  slightly  comforted  by  such  friendly  assurance,  the  somewhat  crestfallen 
layer  of  odds  could  but  recollect  that  these  peremptory  arbiters  of  Cook’s  capabilities 
had  never  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  seeing  that  artist  play,  and  what  Cook  could  or 
could  not  do  was  not  of  so  much  importance  to  him  just  then,  as  how  far  the  talent  of 

his  spectacled  opponent  extended. 

For  a minute  or  so  the  room  was  hushed  as  the  elderly  gentleman  poised  his  cue. 
Another  moment,  and  he  had  proved  to  the  spectators  that  whatever  odds  it  might  be 
against  Cook,  it  was  no  safe  three  to  one  against  him ; for,  playing  with  tolerable 
strength,  he  drove  the  black  ball  into  the  top  corner  pocket,  and  left  his  own  spinning 
in  its  place. 

“ Not  lost  my  game  so  much  as  I thought,”  he  remarked  blandly,  as  he  pushed  hi» 
spectacles  once  more  well  down  upon  his  nose,  and  handed  over  his  cue  to  the  marker. 
“Yes,  quite  right,  thank  you,”  he  continued  urbanely,  as  that  functionary  handed 
him  over  the  pool.  “A  trifle  for  yourself,  my  man.  Three  sovereigns,  thank  you, 
sir.  You  are  unlucky ; I don’t  suppose  I should  make  that  stroke  once  in  ten  times. 
Your  friends  estimated  the  odds  very  (with  considerable  inflection  on  the  first 
syllable)  correctly.  Good-night,  gentlemen.” 

“ Who  is  he  ? Where  did  he  come  from  ? Did  you  ever  see  him  play  before  ? ” 
asked  half-a-dozen  impatient  mouths  as  the  door  closed  behind  the  triumphant  pool- 
player. 

“He’s  a Major  Jenkens,  as  has  been  staying  here  the  last  three  days,”  returned  the 
marker,  laconically,  “and  I never  saw  him  touch  a cue  till  to-night,  but  it’s  my 
belief,  gents,  he’s  had  one  in  his  hand  pretty  often,  looking  at  his  style ; he  weren’t 


6 


Two  Kisses. 


showy,  but  he  were  very  sure  — never  played  a fancy  shot  the  whole  evening  trD 
the  last.  \ 

'‘He’s  a regular  leg,  that’s  what  he  is,”  exclaimed  the  victim,  “ and  if  the  old 
s coundrel  hadn’t  slunk  off  to  bed,  I’d  have  told  him  so.” 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  door  opened,  and  the  major  re-entered  the  room. 

“ I have  left  my  spectacle-case  on  the  mantel-piece.  Ah,  yes,  that’s  it,  thank  you. 
Once  more  good-night.  I trust,  sir,  you  will  be  more  fortunate  in  the  next  pool,” 
and  the  major  looked  very  straight  through  his  spectacles  at  his  utterly  confounded 
antagonist. 

Mr.  John  Silk,  of  the  house  of  Cullington  and  Co.,  did  not  express  his  private  sen° 
timents  on  this  occasion ; but  better  men  than  he  had  before  now  failed  to  tell  the 
major  their  private  opinion  of  him  when  it  came  to  that  point.  It  did  not  seem  quit* 
so  easy  to  call  that  cool,  self-possessed,  gentlemanly  man,  clothed  in  the  panoply  of 
his  spectacles,  a swindler  to  his  face ; and  yet  people,  with  considerable  more  experi 
ence  of  Major  Jenkens  than  Mr.  John  Silk,  had  come  at  times  very  much  to  that 
opinion  concerning  him. 

The  major,  meanwhile,  lights  his  candle,  and  betakes  himself  to  his  bedroom,  with 
very  little  anxiety  as  to  what  the  company  in  the  billiard-room  may  think  of  him. 
Not  much  wont  to  trouble  his  head  about  such  small  matter  as  the  suffrages  of  his 
fellows  is  Major  Jenkens,  — treating  them  indeed  for  the  most  part  as  sent  into  the 
world  expressly  to  minister  to  his  wants  and  necessities,  imbued,  I am  afraid,  with 
flight  respect  for  the  general  intellectual  powers  of  mankind,  but  powerfully  impressed 
with  belief  in  their  gullibility. 

Having  gained  his  chamber,  the  major  proceeds  to  wind  up  his  watch  with  due 
deliberation,  and  then,  turning  out  his  pockets,  counts  their  contents  in  a quiet,  busi- 
ness-like fashion. 

u Six  pounds  eleven  and  six,”  he  mutters.  “ Not  a bad  night’s  work  for  a country 
billiard-room,  and  will  pay  my  hotel-bill  handsomely.  I picked  up  a little,  too,  on 
the  race-bourse.  No ; I have  not  succeeded  in  finding  the  man  I wanted,  but  fortune 
has  been  kind  to  me.  Yes,  the  trip  doesn’t  owe  me  anything.  My  eye  and  hand, 
though  not  true  enough  for  London,  are  good  enough  yet  another  half-dozen  years  in 
the  provinces.  But,  really,”  he  continued,  with  a deprecatory  elevation  of  his  eye- 
brows, “ country  practice  is  not  ‘ worth  the  candle.’  Pour  passer  le  temps , perhaps, 
but  not  a serious  avocation  for  a man  of  ability.  Dear  me,  how  spectacles  always 
do  bamboozle  people ! Because  you  wear  glasses,  they  always  conclude  you  can’t 
see.” 

Major  Jenkens  was  busied,  while  thus  reflecting,  in  packing  up  his  belongings 
preparatory  to  an  early  start.  It  wfis  curious  how  neat  and  precise  he  was  in  all  his 
arrangements.  He  folded  such  garments  as  he  placed  within  his  portmanteau  with 
scrupulous  care,  placed  his  watch  and  purse  by  his  bedside,  and  even  disposed  his 


Major  Jenkens.  7 

brosues.  P^ctaclcs  and  razor,  with  almost  mathematical  regularity  on  the  dressing- 
table. 

It  >rtis  singular  to  remark  how  deft  and  dexterous  his  supple  fingers  were  in  all 
these  i-rrxfe  xninutiae,  how  quick  and  decided  he  seemed  to  be  on  every  point ; how  the 
nervous,  diffident  manner  which  had  so  characterized  him  in  the  billiard-room  seemeu 
to  have  ^appeared.  There  were  people  who,  mistrusting  Claxby  Jenkens,  declared 
that  this  nervousness  of  manner  was  assumed  at  will  for  purposes  of  his,  Claxby 
Jenkens  , own.  But  the  major  always  vowed  that  he  was  shy  among  strange  com- 
pany ; tfc<«t  it  was  a weakness  of  his  boyhood,  which  he  had  never  succeeded  in  shak- 
ing off — ue  supposed  he  never  should  now.  Certain  it  was  that  this  shy,  hesitating 
manner  \%as  invariably  to  be  observed  in  the  major  on  first  making  his  acquaintance, 
and  yet  it  was  equally  worthy  to  be  noted  what  cool  requests  this  diffident  gentleman 
sometimes  proffered  at  short  notices  to  people  of  whom  he  knew  but  little. 

His  belongings  being  in  what  the  major  would  have  termed  due  “ marching  order,” 
that  gentleman  sought  his  pillow  with  the  calm  satisfaction  of  a man  who  had  done 
his  duty  to  himself,  a matter  of  considerably  higher  import  in  his  eyes  than  any 
exertion  on  that  point  regarding  his  neighbor.  To  tell  the  truth,  the  major  was  a 
little  apt  to  regard  his  neighbor  as  an  undeclared  enemy,  seeking  to  obtain  some  slight 
advantage  over  him,  an  advantage  which  the  major  had  long  ago  decided  that  his  duty 
towards  his  neighbor  required  him  to  keep  entirely  on  his  own  side  the  ledger,  — a 
conclusion  which  he  had  contrived  to  cany  out  with  tolerable  success.  Those  that 
could  say  they  had  been  vouchsafed  the  best  of  their  dealings  with  Major  Claxby 
Jenkens  were  not  numerous. 

Plausible  and  liberal  as  he  had  sometimes  seemed  in  matter  of  help  to  his  fellows, 
wonderful  as  had  appeared  his  disinterestedness  to  both  men  and  even  women  at  times, 
yet  it  was  remarkable  how  the  quid  pro  qu^}  the  return  for  his  exertions  on  such 
occasions,  had  come  about.  The  recipients  of  his  help  sometimes  ground  their  teeth 
hard  when  the  reckoning  came,  and  they  discovered  what  it  was  he  required  of  them 
for  such  assistance ; but  they  usually  did  his  bidding,  the  fact  being  that  refusal  in 
some  cases  was  next  door  to  impossible.  Claxby  Jenkens  was  very  fond  of  succoring 
his  neighbor  in  the  hour  of  trial ; but,  impressed  with  the  frailty  of  human  nature, 
Claxby  Jenkens  was  wont  to  take  stringent  precautions  that  his  neighbor  should  never 
fall  into  the  sin  of  ingratitude. 

“ Men  are  so  apt  to  forget  those  who  have  befriended  them,”  quoth  the  major.  “1 
am  singularly  fortunate ; those  I have  had  the  good  luck  to  be  of  service  to  never 
forget  me.” 

He  was  right;  they  must  have  been  much  favored  of  Providence,  or  entirely  gulfed 
'neath  life’s  stormy  waters  if  they  did.  Assistance  from  the  major  was  a thing  certain 
to  have  to  be  accounted  for  in  due  course,  and  likely  to  bear  exorbitant  interest. 

Meanwhile  Major  Claxby  Jenkens,  anxious  even  in  his  slumbers  not  to  be  got  the 
best  of,  takes  it  out  of  the  sheets  and  blankets  of  the  “ Reindeer,”  as  if  still  bearing 


8 


Two  Kisses . 


In  mind  that,  having  to  pay  for  the  bed,  it  behoved  him  to  get  as  orach  sleep  m he 
could  out  of  it. 


There  are  not  many  pleasanter  situations  in  London  than  Hanover  street,  Hanovei 
square,  west ; more  especially  if  you  are  located  on  its  north  side,  and  so  get  the 
advantage  of  what  that  neighborhood  regards  as  the  morning  sun.  For  Regent 
street  and  its  tributaries  do  not  pretend  to  much  necessity  for  sunlight  till  between 
nine  and  ten ; of  course  it  is  well  it  should  be  out  and  warming  the  day,  taking  the 
chill  out  of  the  night-air  and  so  on ; but  the  people  who  live  on  those  pleasant  first- 
floors  of  the  streets  running  west  of  the  great  artery  are  not  wont  to  trouble  them- 
selves regarding  tea  and  rolls  much  before  the  latter  hour.  Certainly  you  have  more 
seclusion,  magnificence,  and  are  altogether  more  flavored  with  aristocracy,  if  you  take 
up  your  abode  in  Belgravia  or  its  vicinity ; but  what  is  so  delightful  as  a stroll  down 
Regent  street  on  a sunny  May  morning  ? The  throng,  the  shops,  the  broad,  well- 
swept  causeway  — is  there  anything  approaching  to  it  for  an  idler  in  all  London  ? 

It  is  rather  soon  for  the  park,  perhaps,  and  even  if  it  were  not,  to  your  inveterate 
street-lounger  Rotten  Row  is  a comparatively  dreary  entertainment.  But  Regent 
street,  the  noblest  lounge  of  all  the  civilized  world,  to  which  the  Grand  Boulevard  of 
Paris,  or  the  Broadway  of  New  York,  are  as  nothing,  there  is  always  a romance,  a 
picture,  a story,  or  a jest,  to  be  found  there ; much  food  for  reflection  to  be  got  out 
of  a walk  up  that  regal  promenade,  take  it  when  you  will. 

In  the  window  of  a prettily  furnished  sitting-room  in  Hanover  street  are  seated 
two  ladies,  looking  lazily  out  on  the  passers-by,  — striking  women  both  of  them,  dressed 
with  admirable  taste,  and  in  the  extreme  of  the  fashion.  One  wears  a widow’s  weeds ; 
but  the  richness  of  her  well-fitting  robe,  the  soft  folds  of  her  crape,  and  the  delicate 
coquettish  cap  half  concealed  in  the  wealth  of  her  rich  dark  tresses,  augur  of  well- 
to-do  sorrow  by  no  means  incapable  of  consolation.  A tall,  shapely  woman  she  looks, 
as  she  lies  indolently  back  in  her  chair,  displaying  a neatly  turned  ankle  and  buckled 
shoe. 

Her  companion  is  more  vivacious  in  appearance,  more  impetuosity  visible  in  the 
very  wlnsk  she  gives  to  her  well-flounced  skirts,  as  she  settles  herself  more  easily  in 
her  seat  and  observes : — 

“ So  you’re  a widow,  Lizzie.  Well,  my  dear,  considering  what  we  know  your  late 
lamented  was,  I don’t  know  that  I feel  altogether  called  upon  to  condole  with  you.” 

“ Perhaps  not.  I am  not  going  to  pretend  to  you  that  1 could  have  any  love  for  Mr. 
Hemsworth.  I married  him  as  a child,  and  he  took  good  care  that  I should  form  no 


CHAPTER  H. 


THE  BANKRUPT’S  WIDOW. 


f 


The  Bankrupts  Widow. 

heroic  conception  of  him  afterwards.  We  will  not  touch  on  that,  please  Mark 
Hemsworth  is  gone,  and  though  he  never  took  any  pains  to  gain  my  affections,  yet  he 
sheltered  me  for  five  years,  and  he  was  my  husband,  remember.” 

“ Yes,  he  was,”  retorted  Lizzie  Paynter,  viciously;  “I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it, 
nor  you  either,  for  the  matter  of  that.  I have  seen  him  recall  the  fact  to  your  recol- 
lection pretty  often,  my  dear,  in  days  gone  by.  If  I had  been  in  your  place,  the 
lamented  Mark  would  have  found  his  fingers  in  hot  water  many  a time,  but  you  — M 
and  Mrs.  Paynter  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  though  to  say  there  are  women  who  will 
submit  to  anything. 

“ Do  please  let  bygones  be  bygones,  Lizzie.  How  Mark  treated  me  surely  concerns 
only  myself  now.  I don’t  know,”  she  continued,  plaintively,  “ that  there  ever  was 
any  one  else  it  mattered  to.  You  see  from  the  day  of  my  marriage  I have  never  had 
a friend  to  appeal  to.  From  that  moment  my  father  vanished,  and  I don’t  even  know 
whether  he  is  dead  or  alive.” 

“ No  ? ” ejaculated  Mrs.  Paynter,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  her  chair  with  astonishment. 

“ It  is  the  fact,  though,”  said  Cissy,  sadly.  “ I haven’t  a friend  in  the  world,  unless 
I may  call  you  one.  You  were  very  kind  to  me  the  year  before  last  in  Paris.  I know 
that  doesn’t  mean  much,  but  you  told  me  to  come  and  see  you  if  ever  I came  to  Lon- 
don, and  I felt  so  lonely  when  I arrived  here  that  I scribbled  you  a note  yesterday.  I 
haven’t,  to  my  knowledge,  another  acquaintance,  even  in  town,  and  I don’t  know 
what  to  do.” 

“ Do,  my  love ! ” retorted  the  vivacious  Mrs.  Paynter,  although  a little  melted  by 
the  widow’s  melancholy  tones.  “ Why,  you  must  do  just  as  well-jointured  ladies  in 
your  position  do.  Make  the  best  you  can  of  life  for  a year  or  so,  and  then,  perhaps, 
Cissy,  my  dear,  we  may  find  some  one  to  take  care  of  you.” 

Cissy  Hemsworth  paused  for  some  few  minutes  as  if  lost  in  thought ; at  last,  raising 
her  head,  she  said,  in  a somewhat  hesitating  fashion : — 

“ But  suppose  I am  not  well-jointured  ? ” 

A slight  expression  of  astonishment  flashed  across  her  visitor’s  face,  and  she  replied, 
quietly : — 

“ Well,  it  is  difficult  to  say,  considering  the  establishment  I last  saw  you  at  the  head 
of,  what  your  views  may  be  on  such  a subject ; but  I should  imagine,  Cissy,  that  you 
are  left  pretty  comfortably  off.” 

Again  the  widow  hesitated,  and  as  the  sun  shone  in  upon  the  soft,  girlish  face,  it 
seemed  almost  impossible  to  realize  that  she  had  been  five  years  a wife.  To  Lizzie 
Paynter,  who  had  seen  somewhat  of  her  brief  married  career,  it  seemed  marvellous 
that  she  could  retain  such  an  appearance  of  innocence  and  freshness.  That  worldly- 
minded  lady  had  seen  poor  Cissy  in  her  Paris  home,  — mistress  of  a saloon  frequented 
by  roues , gamblers  on  the  Bourse,  and  at  times  invaded  by  ladies  with  reputations  not 
altogether  unsmirched.  Mrs.  Paynter,  Bohemian  in  her  tastes,  and  by  no  means 
scrupulous  with  whom  she  mixed,  had  found  Madame  Hemsworth’ s receptions  arnus* 


10 


Two  Kisses. 


mg.  That  was  quite  sufficient  for  her.  She  liked  to  talk,  to  valse,  to  flirt,  to  b* 
amused,  and  there  was  no  house  open  to  her  during  her  sojourn  in  Paris  in  which  she 
so  readily  attained  this  pleasant  combination.  Of  course  she  paid  great  court  to  he* 
hostess.  In  due  return  for  her  hospitality,  in  the  first  instance ; because  she  really 
grew  to  like  her,  in  the  second.  But  Mrs.  Paynter,  to  the  very  last,  never  could  de- 
termine whether  Cissy  Hemsworth  was  the  most  innocent  or  most  artful  woman  of 
her  years  that  she  had  ever  come  across,  and  she  wa9  still  undecided  on  this  point. 
That  her  husband  treated  her  with  almost  brutal  indifference  was  palpable ; but  that 
she  consoled  herself  for  his  neglect  was  at  all  events  not  visible.  Yet  she  had  no  lack 
of  admirers  to  choose  from.  Young,  graceful,  mistress  of  a handsome  establishment, 
with  a husband  at  no  pains  to  conceal  his  want  of  regard  for  her,  and  in  Paris,  it  would 
have  been  odd  if  there  had  not  been  plenty  of  aspirants  for  her  favor.  What  was 
odd,  was  her  superb  indifference  to  all  these  danglers. 

These  baffled  adorers  declared  Madame  Hemsworth  to  be  an  animated  iceberg,  to  be 
destitute  of  esprit,  wit  and  humor.  But  if  Cissy  shone  with  no  peculiar  brilliancy  in 
conversation,  she  was  eminently  graceful  in  her  manner,  she  was  always  extremely 
well  dressed,  and  showed  quite  sufficiency  of  tact.  A beauty  she  was  not  exactly,  but 
with  a magnificent  figure,  a profusion  of  rich,  dark  hair,  youth  and  good  eyes,  she 
might  very  well  pass  for  one. 

Deeper  than  any  woman  I ever  met,  or  with  a far-away  love  affair  in  the  back- 
ground, was  Mrs.  Paynter’s  final  verdict,  after  much  unavailing  attempt  to  compre- 
hend her  friend’s  character  during  that  Paris  intimacy  of  some  eighteen  months  or  so 
ago,  and  great  had  been  that  lady’s  astonishment  upon  receiving  a note  the  previous 
day  from  Cissy  Hemsworth,  requesting  that  she  would  call  upon  her.  She  had 
overlooked  the  notice  of  Mr.  Hems  worth’s  death  in  the  papers,  and  had  no  idea,  till 
she  arrived  in  Hanover  street,  that  Cissy  was  now  a widow. 

“ I think  I had  better  tell  you  all,”  said  Cissy,  slowly,  after  a lengthened  pause. 
“ I have  just  a thousand  pounds  left  in  the  world.” 

To  say  that  Mrs.  Paynter  was  astonished,  would  convey  a very  feeble  notion  of  that 
lady’s  bewilderment;  she  was  simply  thunderstruck.  That  the  widow  of  Mark 
Hemsworth,  whose  establishment  in  Paris,  not  two  years  ago,  must  have  required 
something  like  four  or  five  thousand  a year  to  maintain,  should  assert  that  she  had 
but  a few  hundreds  left  was  inconceivable. 

“ My  dear  Cissy,  what  can  you  mean  ? ” she  exclaimed  at  last. 

u What  I say,”  replied  the  widow,  quietly.  “ Mark  was  a very  daring  speculator,  it 
appears,  and  I presume  had  been  unfortunate  of  late.  All  I know  is,  that  no  sooner 
was  his  death  noised  abroad  than  creditors  sprang  up  from  all  directions.  I can’t 
understand  it  even  now.  I ought  to  have  had  a settlement,  they  say ; but  it  seems  I 
had  not.  All  I could  make  out  was  that  everybody  who  had  any  claim  upon  him 
came  before  his  wife.  They  said  he  had  behaved  disgracefully,  and  that  my  people 
must  have  been  very  foolish.  If  he  has  behaved  badly  to  me,  that,  as  I said  beforq, 


The  Bankrupts  Widow.  11 

concerns  nobody  but  me.  All  these  people  got  their  money,  and  more  than  theil 
money,  I believe.” 

But  are  you  sure,  Cissy,  that  there  was  no  settlement  made  upon  you  at  the  time 
of  your  marriage  ? ” inquired  Mrs.  Paynter. 

“ I am  told  not.  But  I don’t  profess  to  understand  it  all.  I don’t  think  I ever 
should  have  got  things  settled  at  all,  if  it  had  not  been  for  an  English  barrister,  who 
turned  up,  I still  scarcely  know  how.” 

“Ah!  we  are  coming  to  a man  amongst  all  the  tangle  at  last,”  thought  Mrs. 
Paynter.  “ I always  knew  there  must  be  a * him  ’ in  the  background  somewhere.  An 
old  friend,  I suppose,  Cissy.” 

“No,  there  you  mistake,”  returned  the  widow.  “I  never  saw  him  till  about  a 
fortnight  before  poor  Mark’s  death.” 

“Poor  Mark,  indeed ! ” muttered  Mrs.  Paynter  to  herself;  “ a brute,  a bear,  and  she 
pretends  to  regret  him.  What  can  she  mean  ? And  how  did  you  make  his  acquaint- 
ance, then  ? ” 

“Beally,  I almost  forget.  Somebody  brought  him.  You  remember  how  people 
Oid  come  to  my  evenings.  But  he  called  afterwards,  and  when  he  saw  what  trouble 
I was  in,  he  asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  assistance.  I was  really  so  puzzled  that  I felt 
grateful  for  his  offer,  and  told  him  so.  Well  he  did  — I don’t  know  what  he  did,  but 
at  last  he  said  if  I would  give  him  authority,  he  would  do  his  best  to  put  things 
straight  for  me,  and  the  end  of  it  all  was  he  informed  me  that  I had  been  grossly 
taken  advantage  of  in  every  way,  robbed  in  fact ; that  he  unfortunately  had  interfered 
too  late,  but  that  there  remained  to  me,  out  of  the  scramble,  about  a thousand  pounds.” 

“ And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  now  ? ” inquired  Mrs.  Paynter.  “ Marry  the 
chivalrous  barrister  ? ” 

“ No,”  returned  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  with  a faint  smile.  “ I don’t  think  he’s  likely  to 
ask  me ; but  I suppose  I must  marry  somebody  before  veiy  long.  What  else  can  I 
do  ? I must  have  some  one  to  take  care  of  me.” 

She  said  this  in  quiet,  matter-of-fact  tones,  as  if  marriage  was  to  be  adopted  as  a 
profession ; spoke  of  it  as  a girl  left  in  bad  circumstances  might  talk  of  going  out  as 
a governess ; as  if  there  could  be  no  difficulty  about  it ; as  if  it  was  an  aifair  that  would 
come  to  pass  a few  months  hence  in  the  usual  course  of  things.  If  Hanover  street 
had  been  blocked  up  with  suitors  for  her  hand,  she  could  not  have  alluded  to  taking  a 
second  husband  with  more  complete  calmness  and  assurance  of  its  being  so. 

A thorough  woman  of  the  world  was  Mrs.  Paynter,  conversant  with  not  a little  of 
the  wickedness  of  the  world  to  boot,  given  to  flirtations  and  other  amusements  that 
strait-laced  people  held  highly  indecorous.  There  was  a strong  dash  of  Bohemian- 
ism  in  her  set ; junketing?  to  Cremorne  in  the  summer  months,  and  lively  dinners 
down  the  river  they  specially  affected. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mrs.  Paynter  was  a woman  without  the  pale  for  one 
momm t.  That  merry  lady  would  go  considerable  lengths,  and  did  dearly  love  to 


12 


Two  Kisses. 


make  society  hold  up  its  hands,  raise  its  eyebrows,  and  prophesy  infinite  trioulation, 
as  the  final  result  of  her  “ goings  on.”  But  for  all  that,  when  society  had  called  her 
a most  outrageous  flirt,  stigmatized  her  as  fast,  flighty,  and  frivolous,  society  had 
alleged  all  that  society  was  strictly  entitled  to  state  concerning  her.  Of  Gourse 
society  insinuated  rather  more,  and  pitied  the  blindness  of  her  unfortunate  husband ; 
but  those  who  knew  Mrs.  Paynter  best  told  a different  story,  and  vowed  that  she  was 
far  too  confirmed  a flirt  even  to  be  capable  of  a grande  passion.  At  all  events,  her 
easy-going  husband  seemed  to  understand  her,  and,  though  she  would  plunge  into  the 
most  audacious  flirtations  at  times  under  his  very  nose,  never  manifested  the  slightest 
symptoms  of  jealousy. 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Paynter  had  seen  people  in  search  of  eligible  matrimonial  compan- 
ions many  times  — had  indeed  lent  assistance  more  than  once  to  the  riveting  of  the 
chains  called  by  courtesy  golden ; albeit  the  occasional  clanking  of  such  chains  on 
society’s  ear  would  now  and  then  lead  to  reflections  of  their  being  at  times  composed 
of  somewhat  baser  metal.  But  it  did  strike  Mrs.  Paynter  that  for  cool,  deliberate 
assertion  of  such  purpose,  she  had  never  heard  anything  to  equal  Cissy  Hemsworth. 

The  quiet  audacity  of  the  intention,  too,  rather  amused  her.  This  girl  of  twenty- 
two,  widow  of  a fraudulent  bankrupt,  as  it  would  seem,  with  just  a thousand  pounds 
left,  and  not  an  acquaintance  in  all  London  but  herself,  announced  her  design  of 
marry  ing  again,  as  if  she  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but  sit  in  that  pretty  room  in 
Hanover  street  till  she  gave  permission  to  somebody  (somebody  peculiarly  indefinite 
at  the  present)  to  carry  her  to  St.  George’s  Church,  close  by. 

“ Well,  my  dear,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  at  length,  “ I am  not  going  to  say  you 
are  not  right ; but,  Cissy,  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  husbands,  to  use  a homely 
expression,  don’t  grow  on  every  bush  ? You  are  veiy  attractive  and  charming  and  all 
that,  and  I am  sure  look  wonderfully  pretty  in  your  mourning.  But  then  you  see  it 
is  a mercenary  world  that  we  live  in,  and  the  men  — the  wretches ! — will  inquire  what 
sort  of  dot  they  are  to  get  with  their  wives.” 

“ Yes,  I know  it  is  so  with  many ; but  there  are  always  some  ready  to  take  you  for 
yourself — at  least,  I should  think  so.  Don’t  you  imagine,  Lizzie,  that  as  there  are 
women  who  want  taking  care  of,  so  there  are  also  men  who  want  some  one  to  take 
care  of  ? ” 

“No,  indeed,  I don’t,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Paynter,  bluntly. 

“ Oh,  well,  we  shall  see.  It  will  be  so  with  me,”  replied  Cissy,  dreamily,  as  she 
leant  her  cheek  upon  her  hand. 

“She’s  a fool  — a downright  fool,”  thought  Mrs.  Paynter.  “She  seems  to  think 
that  Mrs.  Hemsworth  in  lodgings  in  London,  knowing  nobody,  occupies  the  same 
position  as  Madame  Hemsworth,  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  pleasantest  houses  in  Paris. 
That  Cissy  Hemsworth,  with  a few  hundreds  only  remaining  to  her,  is  the  same 
woman  as  Cissy  Hemsworth,  with  carriages,  servants,  horses,  and  unlimited  credit  at 
Worth’s.  Well,  it  will  be  an  awakening  when  it  does  come,  and,  poor  thing,  I shall 


13 


Nottingham  Goose  Fair. 

be  sorry  for  her.  How  I ever  could  have  thought  her  — thought  whs  t I did  think 
•bout  her.  Deep  — I feel  ashamed  of  myself  in  face  of  such  innocence.” 

“ I must  be  going,”  observed  Mrs.  Paynter,  at  length,  “ but  you  must  come  and 
dine  with  us  to-morrow.  If  I was  not  going  out,  I’d  say  to-night.  I want  you  to 
know  my  husband.  He  always  likes  every  one  I like,  and  sometimes,  though  not 
often,”  she  continued,  with  a little  grimace,  “ some  people  I don’t.  He  knows  how 
kind  you  were  to  me  in  Paris,  and  that  is  quite  sufficient  to  ensure  his  being  partic- 
ularly attentive  to  you.  Good-by,  dear ; I must  endeavor  to  find  somebody  to  take 
care  of  you,  for  I really  can’t  see  how  it  is  to  come  about  unless  I do.” 

“ Oh,  it  will  come  time  enough,”  returned  Cissy,  smiling,  as  she  embraced  her 
visitor. 

" I am  afraid  she  thinks  me  very  foolish,”  mused  the  widow,  as  she  gazed  out  of 
the  window  after  Mrs.  Paynter’s  carriage ; “ eveiybody  always  has.  Father  first,  then 
my  husband,  and  I wonder  how  many  more  of  all  those  people  in  Paris.  I am  sure 
the  men  seemed  to  think  me  a perfect  idiot ; at  all  events,  that  I didn’t  know  right 
from  wrong,  nor  clap-trap  sentiment  from  genuine  love-making.  I don’t  think  I do 
know  anything  about  the  last,  though  I suppose  there  really  is  such  a thing.” 


CHAPTER  m. 

NOTTINGHAM  GOOSE  FAIR. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  any  town  in  England  boasts  of  a more  magnificent  market- 
place than  Nottingham.  See  it  on  an  ordinary  week-day,  and  you  will  own  it  is  a 
noble  square.  See  it  on  a market-day,  and  you  will  reflect  what  a deal  of  business 
must  be  doing  amongst  that  busy  crowd.  Nothing  to  be  seen  much  then  of  the  lace- 
makers,  stocking-weavers,  etc.,  which  represent  so  large  a portion  of  the  industry  of 
the  metropolis  of  the  dukeries.  The  agriculturists,  on  such  occasions,  seem  to  have 
it  all  their  own  way,  and  you  would  deem  corn,  stock,  and  wod  the  special  com- 
modities in  which  Nottingham  deals.  No  sign  much  of  that  great  manufacturing 
population  that,  after  all,  makes  Nottingham  the  city  that  it  is.  A somewhat  rough, 
out-spoken  people  these  last  when  excited  about  election  matters  — not  yet  quite  for- 
gotten a taste  for  prize-fighting,  and  other  barbaric  pastimes  of  that  nature,  but 
withal  showing  rapid  signs  of  succumbing  to  more  gentle  culture.  A disposition 
for  the  cultivation  of  roses,  and  the  more  peaceful  relaxation  of  fishing,  decidedly 
visible  amongst  those  tempestuous  weavers  of  late.  The  former  in  great  measure 
attributable,  perhaps,  to  a famous  rose-grower  of  those  parts,  whose  delightful 
books  would  make  any  one  believe  that  the  production  of  a perfect  bloom  is  to  taste 
5$fetbomable  bliss. 


14 


Two  Kisses. 


But  to  see  Nottingham  market-place  in  its  glory,  you  must  see  it  during  the  sat- 
urnalia of  its  goose  fair;  when  the  pens  are  filled  with  the  famous  bird  of  the  cap- 
itol.  Small,  poor,  draggled  geese,  that  have  been  travelled  there  from  remote  parts 
of  Ireland,  are  penned  next  to  big,  bumptious,  corpulent  birds,  that  are  fresh  from  the 
Lincolnshire  fenlands;  stubble-fed,  white-plumed,  strong  fellows,  with  a great  deal 
to  say  for  themselves,  casting  a contemptuous  eye  on  their  poor  Irish  cousins.  No 
beasts,  no  sheep  in  the  market  town  now,  nothing  but  geese  — geese  everywhere  — 
and  you  carry  not  home  a Michaelmas  goose  with  you,  well,  you  have  not  done  what 
Nottingham  expects  of  you. 

Shows  there  are  everywhere.  Fat  ladies,  learned  pigs,  giants,  dwarfs,  merry-go- 
rounds,  canvas  galleries  wherein  you  shoot  for  nuts  with  a gun  that  must  be  constructed 
with  a curve  in  it,  so  far  does  it  project  its  steel-tipped  dart  to  the  right  or  left  of  the 
target.  Theatres  of  the  kind  to  which  Richardson  has  bequeathed  his  immortal 
name,  — or  is  that  vagrant  Thespian  still  tramping  it  in  the  flesh  like  another  wandering 
Jew?  Wild  beast  shows,  Wombwefl’s  — the  original  Wombwell’s  — no  connection 
with  Wombwell’s  — with  the  hairless  horse  of  the  Pampas,  wTith  the  three-horned 
rhinoceros,  with  the  only  black  South  American  panther  ever  exhibited.  Sound  the 
trumpets,  beat  the  drums,  — “ Here  you  are,  now’s  your  time ! All  in,  and  a-going  to 
begin  immediately.  Walk  up,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  This  performance  is  unparal- 
leled — it  never  was  paralleled  — it  never  can  be  paralleled  — that  it  should  ever  be 
paralleled  is  a parabolical  impossibility.  What  is  sixpence  for  such  an  unparalleled 
exhibition  ? Dash  me,  but  I’d  rather  lend  you  the  money  than  you  should  miss  this 
unparalleled  opportunity.” 

Cackle,  cackle,  cackle,  go  the  bipeds  in  feathers,  gabble,  gabble,  gabble,  go  the 
bipeds  without,  and  from  the  great  market-place  of  Nottingham  one  stupendous 
babble  resounds  through  the  air,  and  proclaims  that  “ the  goose  fail-  ” is  in  full  blast, — 
a wild  confusion  that  might  drive  a quiet  stranger  well-nigh  out  of  liis  senses.  Not- 
tingham, too,  is  all  abroad  — in  high  spirits,  in  eveiy  sense  of  the  term  — here  with  a 
laugh  and  a jest  in  it,  there  with  a hiccup  and  a reel  in  it,  but  merry,  yes,  decidedly 
merry,  whether  treating  its  sweetheart  to  the  shows,  or  treating  its  cronies  to  beer  or 
strong  writers.  For  it  is  a fete  day  at  Nottingham  this,  and  her  citizens  c.f  all  kinds 
respond  nobly  to  her  summons  to  give  themselves  up  to  diversion,  and  let  labor  go 
hang  for  the  present.  Apt  indeed  to  let  labor  go  hang  on  this  occasion  considerably 
longer  than  is  good  for  those  dependent  on  them.  Like  much  more  saturnalia,  it 
opens  with  feasting  and  finishes  with  fasting  in  many  a household. 

At  a corner  of  the  market-place,  evidently  not  the  least  dismayed  by  the  turmoil 
around  him,  stands  on  the  top  of  the  bench  a plump  little,  dark  man,  indulging  in 
most  voluble  harangue  to  the  crowd  that  surrounds  him ; a sleek,  clean-shaved,  little 
man,  with  a keen,  twdnkiing  black  eye,  and  an  expression  of  such  imperturbable 
good-humor  and  self-satisfaction,  that  a lounger  with  money  in  his  pockets  would 
have  felt  almost  impelled  to  spend  a trifle  with  him.  He  was  of  the  Cheap  Jack  genus 


Nottingham  Goose  Fair. 


15 


— dealing  apparently  in  everytliing,  and  was  vaunting  his  wares  with  a flow  of  language 
that  seemed  inexhaustible. 

“ Why  won’t  I part  with  this  here  valuable  cameo  ? Why  not,  indeed  ? Now,  I’ll 
tell  you : cos  I’ve  just  got  a telegraph  from  the  Empress  of  Peru  to  say  she’ll  take  it 
on  my  own  terms  — ‘Your  own  terms,  Mr.  Turbottle,’  that’s  what  the  orgust  lady 
says;  but  I always  have  dealt  straight  with  Nottingham,  and  I always  will.  Spring 
sixpence,  say  four  shillings,  and  the  brooch  is  yours,  sir.  What,  you  won’t  ? W ell, 

: I’ve  a good  mind  to  give  it  away.  But  come,  I can  do  better  with  you  than  that,. 
Short  of  money,  are  you  ? That’s  what’s  the  matter,  is  it  ? Blessed  if  I didn’t  fancy 
it  might  be  so.  Trade’s  trade,  says  I,  and  money  must  be  turned  over  somehow. 
What  constitootes  the  prosperity  of  England  ? Why,  trade.  Block  thesources  of  trade, 
and  you  bust  up,  that’s  what  you  do.  Now,  look  here,  this  is  a half-sovereign,  this 
is,  no  nonsense  about  it,  a genuine  half-sovereign.  I’m  going  to  sell  a lot  of  them  at 
nine  shillings  apiece,  just  to  put  a little  heart  in  you.  Who’ll  have  the  first  ? What, 
you’re  afraid,  are  you  ? Now,  sir,  you  look  like  a man  with  an  account  at  your 
banker  s ; just  oblige  me  by  examining  that  article.” 

The  lounger  addressed  was  a tall,  dark-bearded  man,  attired  in  a shooting-jacket 
| and  low-crowned  hat,  who,  together  with  a companion,  had  been  idly  listening  with 
| much  apparent  amusement  to  the  voluble  discourse  of  Mr.  Turbottle.  Thus  appealed 
to  he  stepped  forward  and  took  the  proffered  half-sovereign,  examined  it  carefully, 
and,  with  a laugh*  said,  “ Good  enough  for  me  — there’s  your  nine  shillings.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  replied  Mr.  Turbottle,  gracefully  lifting  his  hat.  “ It’s  a com- 
fort to  get  some  one  to  believe  in  one  anyhow,  in  this  here  stiff-necked,  incredulous 
city.  Now,  you  scoffers,  and  scorners,  you  hear  what  the  gentleman  says.  Who’s  for 
I the  next  ? Here  you  are  again,  — a real,  genuine  half-sovereign  for  nine  shillings.  I’m 
i bound  to  sell  if  I can ; so  let’s  be  quick  and  have  done  with  ’em.  You  can’t  expect 
me  to  waste  time  ovei  a losing  lot  like  this.” 

Here  a country-looking  fellow  took  heart  and  purchased  a half-sovereign,  amid  con- 
siderable i#erest  and  misgiving  amongst  the  crowd.  But  thi3,  too,  was  perfectly 
genuine,  and  readily  converted  into  ten  shillings  at  an  adjoining  shop.  The  demand 
for  half-sovereigns  at  nine  shillings  apiece  waxed  brisk,  and  Mr.  Turbottle  had  no 
occasion  to  make  use  of  his  oratory  in  furtherance  of  his  trade  for  the  present,  and  in 
every  instance  did  the  purchased  coin  prove  a veritable  half-sovereign. 

But  that  worthy  after  disposing  of  a dozen  on  these  terms,  curtly  announced  that  he 
j had  no  more. 

“Not  my  fault,  gentlemen,”  he  exclaimed,  “ I took  all  they  had  at  the  Bank  of 
England ; but  as  the  manager  says,  — says  he  to  me,  ‘ Mr.  Turbottle,’ — which  these  are 
his  words,  — ‘ you  know  what  Nottingham  Goose  Fair  is — you  know  there’s  nothing  like 
it  ia  all  England  ; and  there  aint.  Well,  Mr.  Turbottle,  it  draws  us  diy,  — that’s  wot 
it  does,  — and  if  there  was  any  call  in  partickiar  on  the  nation  that  week  — well,  Mr.  Tnr- 

m ' % 


16 


Two  Kisses. 


bottle,  the  nation  would  bust  up,  that’s  what  it  would  do,  unless  Nottingham  came  to 
the  front,  which  in  course  we  both  know  Nottingham  alway  has  and  al way  will.’  ” 

As  he  uttered  the  above,  he  was  busied  about  the  packages  in  front  of  him,  for  he 
had  descended  from  his  elevation  while  disposing  of  the  half-sovereigns.  At  last  he 
had  apparently  got  things  to  his  satisfaction,  for  he  once  more  jumped  up  on  his 
bench  and  exclaimed : — 

“Now,  my  independent  citizens,  here  you  are  again.  Talk  about  buying  half- 
sovereigns  at  nine  shillings  apiece,  that  aint  good  enough  for  you.  It  aint  good 
enough  for  me , — shall  I tell  you  why  ? If  I can’t  make  my  fortune  quick,  I aint  agoing 
to  take  twelve  months  to  get  ruined.  That’s  where  it  is.  Sudden  death,  says  I,  and 
no  dying  by  slow  consumption.  It’d  take  me  a year  or  two  to  get  through  my  prop- 
erty at  that  rate.  Now  you  see  this  ? What  is  it  ? Why,  a toasting-fork,  aint  it  1 
It  s not  a very  good  un,  it  aint  a very  bad  un.  Now,  I’ll  sell  this  for  one  shilling,  neither 
more  nor  less.  Too  much,  — wait  a moment,  and  hear  me  out.  Who  says  a shilling 
for  the  toasting-fork,  and  I’ll  give  the  buyer  half  a crown  for  luck,  and  if  that  hurts 
you,  you  are  sensitive.  What,  you’ll  have  it  ? There  you  are,  my  dear,  and  if  the  fork 
aint  all  it  should  be,  the  half-crown  ’ll  make  up  for  it.” 

The  crowd  flocked  around  the  giggling,  blushing  countiy-girl  who  had  purchased 
and  once  more  were  they  nonplussed ; whatever  you  might  think  of  the  toasting-fork^ 
the  half-crown  was  unmistakably  as  genuine  as  the  half-sovereigns.  Nobody  was 
perhaps  more  amused  at  this  new  development  of  the  game  of  humbugging  your 
neighbors,  than  that  black-bearded  lounger,  who  had  bought  the  first  half-sovereign. 

A shrewd  and  rising  London  banister,  Montague  Gore,  had  come  down  to  Notting- 
ham on  professional  business,  and  so  found  himself  a spectator  of  the  Goose  Fair. 

“ Stay,”  he  exclaimed  to  his  companion,  who  manifested  signs  of  impatience.  “ We 
have  nothing  to  do  now,  you  know,  but  enjoy  the  humors  of  the  fair.  It’s  not  often  I 
get  a holiday.  I am  curious  to  see  how  this  clever  scamp  proposes  to  recoup  himself 
One  can’t  suppose  that  he  intends  the  crowd  he  has  collected  to  go  away  scatheless. 
You’re  no  fisherman,  Fox,  or  you  would  understand  what  ground-baiting  a hole 
means.  That  is  what  this  man  is  doing  just  now ; but,  my  life  on  it,  he  sticks  the  hook 
pretty  sharply  into  some  of  their  gills  before  he’s  done  with  ’em.” 

“ Think  the  whole  thing  rather  a bore  myself,”  replied  Mr.  Fox  Brine ; “ most 
things  are ; still  I don’t  know  that  witnessing  that  sleek  little  ruffian  in  grass-green, 
with  the  gold-banded  hat,  consummate  his  elaborate  villany  would  weary  me  more 
than  anything  else.  Stay!  Certainly,  by  all  means,  if  it  interests  you — always  stay 
when  anything  does  that.  I can’t  say  I feel  any  curiosity  about  his  fraudulent  pro- 
ceedings (they’re  sure  to  become  fraudulent)  at  present ; but  I may.  Having  bought 
that  half-sovereign  below  its  current  value,  he  will  probably  appeal  to  you  to  bail  him 
out,  when  the  indignant  public  hand  him  over  to  the  police.  The  present  public,  by 
the  way,  are  likely,  I should  imagine,  to  pound  him  to  a jelly,  as  soon  as  they  discover 
bis  of  course  ultimate  intention  of  getting  the  best  of  them.” 


Nottingham  Goose  Fair. 


11 


“ Listen  to  him,”  replied  Gore ; “ look,  lie  puts  up  a frying-pan.” 

“ Here  you  are  again,  — a frying-pan  that  takes  the  change  out  of  nature  altogether 
— a pan,  bless  you,  that  multiplies  the  rasher  you  put  into  it.  An  article  like  this 
♦wants  no  talking  about.  Going  for  one  shilling.  I’ll  take  neither  more  nor  less,  and 
I’ve  a present  for  whoever  buys  it,”  cried  Mr.  Turbottle.  “ What  is  it  ? Well,  it’s 
not  as  heavy  as  the  income  tax,  nor  as  light  as  most  of  your  pockets.  Who’ll  have 
the  frying-pan  ? Thank  you,  sir,  and  there’s  that  invaluable  article,  and  a bright  new 
shilling  to  boot  in  exchange  for  your  own  dirty  one.  Here  you  are  again ; quick, 
always  go  on  when  you’re  in  luck ; it’s  real  bargains  I’m  selling  you.  Go  on  ? — yes, 
I’m  bosnd  to  go  on ; who  ever  heard  of  any  one  pulling  up  on  the  road  to  ruin  ? 
Dash  it  a.  ! let  me  get  it  over.  Here’s-half  a-dozen  plates;  who  takes  them  at  a 
shilling,  with  faith  in  my  generosity  ? Now,  don’t  stop,  thinking  about  it ; I’ll  grow 
avaricious  if  I’m  kept  waiting.” 

Again  was  the  stipulated  shilling  tendered,  and  this  time  Mr.  Turbottle  threw  in  a 
glass  bottle,  evidently  quite  worth  the  money.  In  a similar  manner  he  disposed  of 
some  half-dozen  more  lots,  but  all  manifestly  to  the  buyer’s  advantage  considerably. 
The  crowd  gathered  thicker  and  thicker  round  the  bench  from  which  such  good 
things  were  distributed. 

“Bah!”  exclaims  Mr.  Turbottle,  at  last;  “getting  monotonous,  aint  it?  We’ll 
change  the  game,  eh  ? 

“ * Safe  to  win  when  I begin, 

Tommy  Dodd ! Tommy  Dodd  I 
Glasses  round,  cigars  as  well ; 

Tommy  Dodd ! Tommy  Dodd ! 

“ * Now,  my  boys,  we’ll  ail  go  in, 

Tommy  Dodd ! Tommy  Dodd ! 

We’ll  clean  him  out— -yes,  just  about; 

Hurrah  for  Tommy  Dodd* tr 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  unction  with  which  Mr.  Turbottle  trolled  out  this 
flash  music-hall  chorus  to  his  hearers,  or  to  express  on  paper  the  humorous  wink  he 
favored  them  with  as  he  concluded  it. 

“ Tommy  Dodding  again,  my  dears.  Lor,  wot  a game  it  is ! Here’s  the  next  invest- 
ment in  the  programme.  Making  your  fortin  aint  accomplished  by  looking  on,  and 
I shan’t  manage  a ruining  of  myself  if  you  don’t  tumble  up  to  buy  quicker  than 
you’ve  been  doing,  you  know.  Here  you  are!  What  is  it?  Well,  it’s  a lucifer 
match ; and  I don’t  warrant  it  to  go  off  unless  you  hold  it  to  your  sweetheart’s  eyes, 
and  then,  if  he’s  true  to  you,  rockets  aint  nothing  to  it.  I’m  going  to  sell  sixty  of 
these  matches,  invented  by  Professor  Pelligrinismolensko,  at  sixpence  a piece ; and  I’ll 
give  you  a silver  thimble  in.  No  sale  till  I get  sixty  sixpences.  Money  returned  if 


(8 


Two  Kisses. 


there  aie  only  fifty-nine.  Now,  young  ladies,  this  is  your  chance.  If  you  can’t  trust 
your  sweethearts,  don’t  buy,  that’s  my  advice  to  you.  What’s  a silver  thimble  com* 
pared  to  a sore  heart  ? Quite  right,  sir ; don’t  let  her  buy  one,”  he  suddenly 
exclaimed,  pointedly  addressing  a rough-looking  countryman,  with  a fresh,  rosy- 
heeked  girl  clinging  to  him.  “ My  lucifers  won’t  go  off  at  such  eyes  as  yours ; 
hey’ve  been  wandering  all  round  the  fair.” 

A roar  of  laughter  welcomed  this  little  personality.  It  always  does  upon  such 
iccasions,  and  is  one  of  the  usual  tricks  of  these  traders. 

“ I’m  a good  mind  to  breaak  every  boane  in  his  body,  Molly,”  growled  the  assailed, 
with  all  the  natural  urbanity  of  the  English  agriculturist. 

“Hush,  Tom,  hush!”  whispered  the  girl,  nudging  him.  “I’m  going  to  buy  a 
match.” 

“ If  thee  does,  thou’rt  a fool,”  replied  her  lover  in  a hoarse  whisper. 

What  will  not  woman  dare  in  pursuit  of  such  dangerous  intelligence  ? Despite  her 
lover’s  rough  remonstrance,  Molly,  nothing  doubting  and  curious,  led  the  way.  Both 
men  and  women  swarmed  up  to  follow  her  example.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  at 
least  eighty  people  were  walking  away  with  a lucifer  match  and  a small,  elaborately 
done-up  parcel,  supposed  to  contain  the  silver  thimble.  The  trade  was  brisk  past  con- 
ception, and,  relaxing  from  his  oratory,  Mr.  Turbottle  gravely  supplied  his  customers 
with  matches. 

But,  clear  of  the  crush,  Molly  opened  her  parcels,  as  did  many  others,  and  it  became 
manifest  at  once  that  these  thimbles  were  of  Brummagen  manufacture,  and  with  slight 
pretension  to  silver ; being,  in  good  sooth,  worth  at  the  outside  about  a penny  a piece. 
Then  slowly  but  surely  rose  a murmur  of  wrath  against  the  vendor,  in  which  those 
who  had  profited  by  his  previous  sales  joined  quite  as  readily  as  those  who  were  the 
victims  of  his  last  exposition  of  the  interesting  game  of  Tommy  Dodd.  Did  they 
expect  that  the  benevolent  Turbottle  was  never  to  sell  except  at  a dea d loss  ? It 
seemed  so.  For  cries  of  Sharper ! Robber ! Cheat ! commenced  to  be  rife  among  the 
crowd.  Still  Turbottle  seemed  equal  to  the  occasion. 

“ Come,  my  turbulent  pippins,”  cried  that  orator,  once  more  mounting  his  bench, 
'*  you  mus’nt  cry  out  before  you’re  hurt.  If  them  thimbles  aint  silver,  they’d  deceive , 
the  Prince  of  vVales  himself,  — which  here’s  long  life  to  him ! IIow  about  the  matches  ? 
You  can’t  try  ’em  except  in  the  dark.  There’s  no  deception  about  them.  Mark  my 
words,  you  men  who’s  dissatisfied  are  afraid  of  your  sweethearts’  lighting  ’em,  — that’s 
what  you  are.  You  can’t  except  to  play  Tommy  Dodd  always  on  your  side,  can  you  ? 
Here  we  are  again.  You’ve  had  your  turn ; I’ve  had  mine.  Now  I’ll  tell  you  what 
I’ll  do  with  you.” 

“ And  I’ll  show  you  what  I’ll  do  with  you,  mister,”  growled  an  ominous  voice  fiom 
just  below  the  speaker’s  post  of  vantage. 

It  w&s  the  cross-grained  laborer,  upon  whom  Mr.  Turbottle  had  exercised  his  humor, 


Nottingham  Goose  Fair. 


19 


that  spoke.  He  had  a sullen,  savage  expression  in  his  face  that  boded  mischief.  A 
common  type  of  his  class,  excess  of  beer  went  through  an  established  course  of  fer- 
mentation within  him ; four  distinct  stages  of  intoxication  invariably  visible,  the 
supply  of  malt  not  being  cut  off,  the  loquacious,  the  quarrelsome,  the  boisterous  and 
jocular,  and  the  maudlin.  He  had  only  attained  the  second  phase  of  beer  at  present 
and  consequently  was  in  the  mood  to  resent  Mr.  Turbottle’s  jokes  fiercely.  Utterly 
%noring  his  sweetheart’s  successful  purchase  of  the  toasting-fork,  he  deemed  that  the 
little  disappointment  concerning  the  silver  thimble  was  due  warrant  for  giving  vent  to 
his  wrath ; and,  despite  Molly’s  entreaties,  had  pushed  his  way  back  through  the 
crowd  for  the  express  purpose  of  what  he  termed  “ having  a settlement  with  that 
green-coated  chap.” 

“Nonsense,  my  man,”  retorted  Mr.  Turbottle,  loftily,  “ if  you  go  for  bargains  at 
public  auctions,  you  gets  ’em  or  you  doesn’t,  as  is  very  well  known.  Your  young 
woman  anyways  has  no  call  to  find  fault.  That’ll  do,  I ain’t  going  to  have  you  coming 

up  here.” 

But  whether  Mr.  Turbottle  was  going  to  have  it  or  not  apparently  did  not  rest  with 
Mr.  Turbottle.  The  countryman,  with  his  heavy  frame  and  brawny  shoulders,  was 
hardly  to  be  kept  at  bay  by  the  plump  little  pedier.  Luckily  help  was  at  hand. 

“ Come  on,  Fox,”  exclaimed  Montague  Gore.  “ I won’t  see  our  little  friend  put 
upon  by  that  great  hulking  brute,”  and  he  pushed  his  way  rapidly  towards  the  bench 
which  formed  Mr.  Turbottle’s  rostrum. 

“Where  Don  Quixote  leads,  I suppose  Sancho  Panza  must  follow,”  replied  Fox 
Brine,  quietly.  “How  nice  you’ll  look  in  court  with  a black  eye  next  Wednesday, 
philanthropically  gathered,  too,  in  preventing  a cheap  jack  from  receiving  the  due 
reward  of  his  mendacity ! Push  on ; when  you  sober  people  do  make  fools  of  vour- 
selves  }rou  always  go  in  a cracker,  / have  observed.” 

By  the  time  they  had  worked  their  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  centre  of  action, 
it  was  evident  that  the  countryman  was  not  without  supports,  in  vain  did  Mr. 
Turbottle  appeal  to  the  British  spirit  of  fair  play.  Tlsre  was  an  undeniable  disposi- 
tion apparent  to  handle  him  foughlv  and  cap»ize  his  stand.  It  was  useless  for  him  to 
argue  crmld  net  expect  that  there  should  be  no  blanks  among  the  prizes ; that 
tney  could  hardly  suppose  he  was  always  to  be  disposing  of  his  wares  at  considerable 
sacrifice ; that  he  must  have  his  little  innings  at  the  game  of  Tommy  Dodd  _as  well 
as  themselves.  They  did  not  see  it,  and  they  were  not  to  be  induced  to  see  it.  He 
had  said  he  meant  to  ruin  himself.  Well,  they  would  take  care  he  should  be  for  the 
present,  pretty  effectually.  Nottingham  affected  not  to  understand  chaff  in  his  case, 
and  repudiated  all  notion  that  his  statements  should  be  taken  otherwise  than  en  vtritt. 
It  promised  to  go  hard  with  Mr.  Turbottle,  when  Montague  Gore  and  his  friend  sud- 
denly appeared  by  that  disconsolate  trader’s  side. 

“ Come,  my  men,”  exclaimed  Gore ; “ no  violence.  You’ve  nothing  to  complain  of. 
If  he  had  the  best  of  the  la3t  venture,  you  had  the  pull  of  those  before.” 


so 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Who  be  you,  Fd  loike  to  know  ? ” retorted  Tom,  grimly,  thrusting  himself  forward. 

“ I must  trouble  you,  my  clumsy  friend,  to  mind  where  you  are  putting  your  hoofs,” 
observed  Fox  Brine,  in  his  most  nonchalant  manner. 

“ I’ll  be  putting  ’em  on  your  faace,  my  foine  fellow,  if  you  doan’t  quit  that,”  rejoined 
the  countryman,  fiercely. 

“ My  good  man,  you’d  really  better  go  home.  I shall  be  put  to  the  trouble  of 
knocking  you  down  if  you’re  insolent,  and  the  police  will  most  likely  take  you  up  for 
creating  a disturbance  if  you  assault  our  little  friend  here.” 

All  the  savage  instincts  of  the  countryman’s  nature  were  roused  by  Brine’s  con- 
temptuous retort.  He  lowered  his  head  and  rushed  in  on  his  opponent  like  a bull. 
But  Fox  Brine  had  been  an  athletic  in  his  university  days,  and  had  learned,  among 
other  diversions  of  that  nature,  to  use  his  fists.  The  old  training  and  his  constitutional 
coolness  stood  him  in  good  stead  now.  It  all  happened  in  a moment,  but  the  country- 
man’s rush  was  stopped  by  a quick  one,  two,  that  threw  his  head  up,  and  before  he’d 
time  to  recover  himself,  what  the  fancy  would  designate  as  a neat  upper  cut  caught 
him  just  under  the  chin,  made  his  teeth  rattle  like  a box  of  dominoes,  and  stretched 
him  half  senseless  on  the  ground. 

The  situation  still  looked  awkward  for  Mr.  Turbottle  and  his  champions,  but  the 
mob  hesitated  as  mobs  always  do  on  receiving  a prompt  repulse  in  the  first  instance. 
Before  the  redoubtable  Tom  was  reinstated  on  his  feet  the  police  intervened,  and  that 
hero  was  given  into  custody  by  Fox  Brine  for  assault.  His  followers  disappeared 
with  exceeding  rapidity,  and  Mr.  Turbottle  and  his  allies  were  left  masters  of  the 
field. 

“ A bad  business,  very,”  exclaimed  the  little  man,  shaking  his  head! 

“ Confound  it ! ” rejoined  Montague  Gore ; “ I don’t  think  you’ve  much  cause  to 
complain.  If  it  hadn’t  been  for  my  friend  here,  you  were  likely  to  have  been  in  a 
parlous  state  before  another  five  minutes  had  gone  by.” 

“ Gentlemen,  I thank  you  both  much.  If  it  hadn’t  been  for  your  interference,  1 
don’t  deny  but  it  might  have  gone  a little  rough  upon  me.  But  you  see  my  pitch  is 
done  for  the  day.  I’ll  sell  nothing  more  here  this  afternoon,  and  I’d  have  done  a deal 
in  duffer  brooches,  car-rings,  and  so  on,  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  this  here  unlucky  mis- 
understanding, which  it  can’t  be  helped,  anyway.  They  were  rising,  too,  beautiful. 
All  the  salt  had  taken  extraordinary  well.  Beg  pardon,  gents,  but  that’s  what  we  call 
the  bargains  we  always  begin  with.” 

“Well,  come  up  to  the  ‘ George,’  and  ask  for  me,  as  soon  as  you  have  packed  up 
your  traps ; there’s  my  card.  You  can  start  again  in  the  evening,  you  know,”  said 
Gore. 

“ That’s  so,”  responded  Mr.  Turbottle,  blithely.  “ I’ll  look  in  and  thank  you  kindly, 
gentlemen  both.” 

“ Think  our  friend  will  turn  out  amusing  in  the  social  circle  ? ” inquired  Fox  Brine, 
as  they  walked  away. 


Mr.  Turbottle's  Story.  21 

“ I can’t  say,  but  I am  curious  to  have  a talk  with  him.  As  for  you,  Fox,  who  are 
always  about  to  perpetrate  a novel  or  a drama,  you  ought  to  regard  him  as  a study. 
He  may  prove  quite  a valuable  character  for  you.” 

Fox  Brine  made  no  reply.  Gore’s  remark  exactly  described  him.  A clever  man, 
whom  his  friends  were  always  expecting  to  do  something ; but  he  had  never  done  it. 
He  had  projected  novels  and  plays  without  end ; but  unfortunately  he  always  stopped 
there.  He  never  worked  out  these  conceptions.  He  was  always  whispering  promising 
plots,  tremendc  us  tableaux,  and  striking  situations,  into  the  ears  of  his  intimates ; but 
the  eggs  never  got  hatched  somehow.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  was  a man  of  ideas, 
and  that  his  nearest  approach  to  becoming  a veritable  author  had  been  the  writing  of 
a pi  eface  for  a novel  which  he  had  never  commenced.  Possessed  of  just  sufficient 
means  to  scramble  along  on  as  a bachelor  in  chambers,  Fox  Brine  never  could  harden 
his  heart  and  sit  down  really  to  work.  Had  he  been  a poorer  man,  he  might  perhaps 
have  made  his  mark  and  achieved  some  success  in  literature.  As  it  was,  he  had  got 
no  further  than  always  intending  to  do  so.  There  were  times  when  he  half  believed 
that  he  really  was  doing  something  — when  he  got  out  sheets  of  paper  and  sketched 
out  wondrous  stories  and  plays.  Then  he  would  talk  complacently  to  his  friends  of 
these,  as  things  done,  but  they  never  were  done ; never,  indeed,  got  further  than  this. 
Still  Fox  Brine  always  considered  himself  affiliated  to  literature. 

Musing  over  his  friend  Gore’s  last  remark,  he  felt  now  quite  prepared  to  accept  Mr. 
Turbottle  from  an  artistic  point  of  view. 




CHAPTER  IV. 

MR.  TURBOTTLE’S  STORY. 

Satiated  with  the  humors  of  the  Goose  Fair,  Gore  and  Fox  Brine  were  whiling 
away  an  hour  over  a cigar  in  the  George  Hotel,  preparatory  to  an  early  dinner,  when 
Mr.  TurbotUe  was  announced. 

The  little  man  had  evidently  indulged  in  much  brushing  and  ablution  since  the 
adventure  cf  the  morning,  and  raised  his  gold-banded  hat  with  a most  jaunty  air  as 
he  entered  the  room.  There  was  something  irresistibly  comic  in  his  appearance  : in 
the  bright-green  coat,  with  its  gilt  buttons,  in  the  rather  high  shirt-collar,  in  the 
twinkling  black  eyes,  in  his  generally  plump,  jovial  figure.  You  felt  certain  that  if 
there  was  nothing  particularly  funny  in  what  he  said,  there  would  be  in  his  way  of 
saying  it. 

We  have  all  seen  this.  We  have  all  met  noted  causeurs , renowned  for  the  humor 
of  their  story-telling.  As  a rule  their  stories  have  very  little  in  them.  It  is  the  way 


iZ 


Two  Kisses. 


they  tell  them  It  iu  not  till  the  neophyte  narrates  the  tale  he  has  learned  from  the® 

lips  that  you  see  how  much  it  owed  to  the  original  teller. 

“ I have  looked  in,  gentlemen  both,  agreeable  to  invitation.  Mr.  Gore,  sir,  allow 
me  to  thank  you  once  more  for  interfering  in  my  favor ; also  the  t'other  gentleman, 
whose  name  I haven’t  the  pleasure  of  knowing,  but  who  popped  in  in  his  right  so 

handily  at  the  critical  moment.” 

“ Sit  down,  Mr.  Turbottle,  and  have  something  to  wash  the  dust  out  of  your  throat.” 
“ Thank-you,  sir,  thank  you.  Something  cooling  would  be  grateful.  The  ingrati- 
tude of  the  populace  is  still  sticking  in  my  gizzard.  To  think  of  their  turning  rusty 
over  the  match  trick.  The  unruly  passions  of  the  multitude  are  always  upsetting 
trade,  which  is  the  science  of  doing  or  being  done  by  your  neighbors.  The  great 
game  of  Tommy  Dodd  requires  level  temper  on  the  part  of  all  parties  concerned.” 
“But,”  rejoined  Fox  Brine,  “it  might  occur  to  a gentleman  of  your  powers 
of  observation  that  the  British  public  is  wont  to  wax  wroth  when  he  finds  himself 
done.” 

“ What  business  has  the  B.  P.  to  do  anything  of  the  sort.  They  couldn’t  suppose 
I was  going  to  lose  money  by  ’em  all  day,”  retorted  Mr.  Turbottle,  hotly ; “ I act 
strictly  on  principle.  I sells  ’em  bargains  to  start  with  to  establish  a connection, 
and  then  I sells  ’em  precious  hard  bargains  to  make  my  living  by  afterwards.  They 
needn’t  buy  unless  they  like  — there’s  their  remedy.  They  aint  no  business  to  cut 
up  lumpy  cos  they  don’t  always  win,  that’s  what  I say ; ” and  the  little  man  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair  with  the  air  of  a man  who  has  propounded  a regular 
clincher. 

“Were  you  always  in  your  present  line?”  inquired  Gore,  much  amused  at  his 
guest’s  theory  of  trade.  “ By  the  way,  what  do  you  call  yourself  ? ” 

Mr.  Turbottle  sat  straight  up  in  his  chair,  looked  his  interlocutor  very  direct  in  the 
face,  like  a man  who  felt  that  his  statement  might  be  challenged. 

“ I am  a travelling  merchant,  sir,  although  the  ribald  multitude  usually  think  fit  to 
call  me  a ‘ Cheap  Jack.’  That  for  the  ribald  multitude,  as  a rule,”  continued  the 
little  man,  snapping  his  fingers ; “ but  they  had  me  this  morning,  and  no  mistake.” 

It  had  struck  Brine  more  than  once  that  there  was  some  incongruity  in  this  man’s 
talk.  Sometimes,  though  rather  inflated,  his  language  was  so  much  better  than  at 
others. 

“But  you  were  not  always  a — a — cheap  — I mean  travelling  merchant,  were 
you  ? ” V 

“ No,”  replied  Mr.  Turbottle,  “ no,  my  noble  gladiator,  I wasn’t.  I’ve  tried  a many 
trades  in  my  time.  I began  life  on  this  very  circuit  as  a boother.  But  I suppose  I 
hadn’t  what  they  call  histrionic  talent,  for  I never  rose  veiy  high  in  that  profession. 
My  manager  paid  me  the  compliment  of  sajdng,  that  nobody  ever  learnt  his  word? 
quicker  or  delivered  them  worse  than  I did.  He  said  I hadn’t  voice  enough,  but 
thought  if  I’d  study  up  for  the  big  drum,  I’d  make  myself  heard.  Well,  I thought  • 


Mr  Turbottle's  Story. 


28 


pound  a week  for  towelling  the  sheepskin  wasn’t  a big  thing  to  look  forward  to; 
besides  it  spoils  your  carriage,  you  know,  and  I always  went  in  for  elegance  in  those 
days,  so  I told  him  that  wasn’t  good  enough  for  me.” 

“ Might  we  inquire  what  did  seem  good  enough  in  )7our  eyes  ? ” asked  Fox  Brine, 
with  just  a touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone. 

There  was  an  angry  flush  on  Mr.  Turbottle’s  face  as  he  replied : — 

“ Yes,  gentlemen,  I don’t  mind  telling  what  my  life’s  been,  unless  I’m  a -boring 
people.” 

If  he  hadn’t  seen  Brine  develop  in  the  morning  that  there  was  plenty  of  the  real 
grit  in  him,  the  little  man  would  have  probably  stopped  short  in  his  communicative* 
ness.  Like  most  of  his  class,  he  had  a perfect  horror  of  being  drawn  out  for  the 
amusement  of  what  he  called  a swell,  when  off  his  rostrum.  There  it  was  fair  give 
and  take.  You  drew  him  out  then  at  your  own  risk,  and  required  to  be  a past  master 
of  chaff  to  hold  your  own ; but  here  it  was  different. 

Montague  Gore  saw  something  of  this,  and  at  once  interposed. 

“ Let  me  order  another  glass  of  that  mixture  for  you,  Mr.  Turbottle,  and  then,  if 
it  isn’t  asking  too  much  of  you,  to  tell  us  a little  more  of  your  adventurous  career, 
you  will  be  conferring  a real  favor  on  the  pair  of  us.” 

Mr.  Turbottle’s  indignation  was  easily  appeased,  and  having  been  supplied  with  a 
fresh  jorum  of  his  favorite  beverage,  he  immediately  continued : — 

“Well,  gentlemen,  when  the  big  drum  is  the  only  thing  put  before  you  as  a careeu 
selection  is  difficult.  I went  as  assistant  to  a tobacconist  in  this  veiy  town.  I knew 
as  much  of  the  business,  at  all  events,  as  I did  of  the  big  drum.  My  master  had  two 
daughters,  the  elder,  plain  and  practical ; the  younger,  a beauty,  and  frivolous.  I fell 
in  love  with  the  younger,  and  she  with  a young  artillery  officer  quartered  here.  She 
went  off  with  him,  and  then  the  elder  married  me,  because  she  chose  to  do  so.  I 
never  did  quite  know  how  it  came  about,  but  she  made  a real  good  wife  as  long  a3  she 
lived,  poor  soul.  Here’s  her  health,  anyway,”  said  the  little  man,  plaintively, 
“ though  she  was  a bit  aggravating  at  times.  But  she  kept  me  straight,  gentlemen. 
She  wouldn’t  have  no  late  hours,  — not  she.  None  of  your  ‘jolly  companions  every 
one,’  nor  anything  of  that  sort  would  she  stand.  Well,  I went  on  Tommy  Dodding 
in  that  line  for  some  years,  selling  prime  Havanas  at  fourpence,  which  I got  from 
Liverpool  for  a penny,  and  did  well.  It’s  a paying  business,  is  the  cigar  trade,  if 
you’ve  got  a connection ; and  ours  was  not  a bad  un.  Then  Ike  old  man  died,  which 
he  had  got  that  contrarious  of  late  years,  it  was  getting  time  he  took  hisself  off  to 
something  that  suited  him  better,  and  about  five  years  back,  my  old  lady  followed 
him.  ‘ Timothy,’  says  she  to  me,  at  the  last,  ‘ you’ll  never  get  along  in  the  cigar  line 
without  me ; you’d  better  give  up  the  business  and  try  something  else.’  I took  her 
advice,  and  did;  but  I think  she  was  wrong,  I’ve  never  settled  to  anything  since. 
I’ve  tried  half-a-dozen  trades,  and  have  been  for  the  last  eighteen  months  in  my 
present  one.” 


Two  Kisses . 


f 


* 


“ Thank  3 ou,”  replied  Gore.  “ I suppose  you  always  travel  the  circuit  ? ” 

“ As  a rule,  yes,  sir ; I’m  as  reg’lar  as  if  I belonged  to  the  Midland  Bar.  Warwick, 
Derby,  Leeds,  I’ve  a tujn  at  ’em  all  at  times.  I’ve  many  a friends  in  this  town,  and 
only  I missed  m}r  usual  pitch,  }Tou’d  not  nave  seen  ’em  turn  lumpy  as  they  did  this 
morning.  They  didn’t  quite  know  me  at  that  end  of  the  market-place.  Wish  you 
good-da3r,  gentlemen.” 

entertainers  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him,  a compliment  at  which  the 
little  man  was  much  gratified,  and  with  wishes  expressed  on  both  sides  that  they 
might  meeWigain  ere  long,  Mr.  Turbottle  and  his  hat,  it  really  did  seem  a most 
important  part  of  him,  took  their  departure. 

“ Which  is  he,  Monte,”  asked  Brine,  as  their  guest’s  steps  died  away  in  the 
distance,  “ most  knave  or  fool  ? ” 

“ He’s  certainly  no  fool,  and  in  spite  of  his  peculiar  commercial  ideas  I don’t  think 
he  is  a knave.  He’s  a rare  study  for  you,  my  artistic  friend.  My  belief  is  this,  that 
though  he  would  do  you  unscrupulously  in  the  way  of  business  — he  has  already  told 
us  3rou  must  do  or  be  done  — you  would  otherwise  find  him  a perfectly  honest,  con- 
scientious man.  He  struck  me  a3  one  of  the  most  singular  combinations  of  shrewd- 
ness and  simplicity  I have  ever  met.” 

“ Did  he  ? I only  wish  he  had  interested  me  half  as  much.  He  merely  struck  me 
as  one  of  the  most  loquacious,  drinking  old  fools  I ever  came  across.” 

“ No  wonder  you  don’t  get  oh  in  your  trade,  Fox,  if  you  can’t  see  material  when 
you  come  across  it.” 

It  was  rather  unkind.  It  was  piercing  Brine  in  the  most  sensitive  part  of  his 
cuticle  to  insinuate  that  he  could  overlook  character  in  any  shape ; then  to  mix  up 
with  it  the  self-evident  truism  that  he  had  not  got  on  in  his  profession.  He  un- 
doubtedly professed  literature,  and  undoubtedly  could  point  to  no  work  satisfactorily 
achieved  in  that  direction ; but  did  not  every  one  know  that  he  only  did  so  in  a 
dilettante  way  ? And  3Tet  it  was  sometimes  a sore  subject  with  Fox  Brine  that  he  had 
done  nothing.  It  was  not  that  he  had  tried  and  failed  — it  was  simply  he  had  lacked 
energ)~  to  try . The  belief  in  himself  had  not  as  yet  been  knocked  out  of  him,  and 
our  capabilities  in  literature  we  usually  rate  pretty  high,  till  failure  has  convinced  us 
that  we  are  not  quite  the  shining  lights  we  once  thought  ourselves. 

“ I can  quite  agree  wdth  you,  Montie,”  he  rejoined,  lazily,  at  length,  speaking 
indeed  with  more  than  usual  deliberation,  as  self-contained  men  are  apt  to  do,  when 
their  assailant’s  arrow  has  hit  the  bull’s-eye.  “He’s  but  a tj^pe  of  his  class  — no 
unusual  one,  I fancy.” 

‘ But  what  an  eccentric  class  it  is  for  one  thing ; you’re  wrong  about  him,  I suspect 
ior  another;  he’s  not  a common  specimen.  There’s  a story  behind  what  we  have 
heard,  I’d  lay  my  life.  If  we  could  have  ventured  to  inquire  the  fate  of  the  runaway 
sister,  for  instance.” 

“He’d  have  known  nothing,”  returned  Brine.  “ Her  history,  probably,  would  be 


Mrs.  Paynter  at  Home . 25 

that  of  most  young  women  who  have  run  away  with  men  socially  above  themselvfc? 
— bad  to  investigate.” 

“ You’ll  never  be  a novelist,  Fox,  or  a dramatist.  You  are  wanting  in  imagination. 
I believe  I could  have  been  both  if  I had  ever  had  time  to  go  in  for  it.” 

“ Most  people  do ; and  when  they  go  in  for  it,  they  become  aware  that  it’s  not  quite 
so  easy  a business  as  tliey-deemed  it.  The  reviewers  disabuse  their  souls  of  infatua- 
tion with  small  ceremony.  Reviewing  must  be  rather  jolly,”  continued  Brine,  medi- 
tatively ; “ you  pitch  in  with  no  risk  of  being  pitched  into.” 

“ Pooh ! the  critics  do  their  duty  to  the  best  of  their  ability.  They  have  a good 
deal  of  rubbish  to  adjudicate  upon,  and  can  do  no  less  than  say  that  they  think  it  so.” 

“ Yes ; but  when  it  happens  to  be  your  rubbish,  you'd  like  to  argue  the  point  with 
them.” 

“ Of  course,”  replied  Gore,  laughing ; “ but  I am  afraid  the  public  would  not  care 
to  hear  that  argument.  At  all  events  editors  don’t  think  they  would.  But  here's 
dinner,  and  by  the  time  we  have  finished  it  our  train  will  be  pretty  well  due.” 

“ Hum ! sole  result  of  Nottingham  Goose  Fair,  which,  you  villain,  you  swore  was 
amusing,  is  that  I have  ascertained  I have  not  quite  lost  the  art  of  boxing.  As  well, 
perhaps,  I met  a most  unscientific  antagonist,  or  I might  have  been  much  less  pleased 
with  myself.” 

And,  with  this  philosophical  reflection,  Mr.  Fox  Brine  seated  himself  at  table. 


CHAPTER  Y. 


MBS.  PAYNTER  AT  HOME. 

Mrs.  Paynter  was  mistress  of  a very  pretty  house  out  by  the  Regent's  park ; and 
there  was  no  pleasanter  lounge  in  all  London,  vowed  those  privileged  of  the  entree. 
The  hostess  had  a large  and  heterogeneous  acquaintance.  There  were  her  husband’s 
city  friends,  who  somehow  never  felt  quite  at  their  ease  in  her  bright  drawing-rooms ; 
there  were  her  own  rather  Bohemian  acquaintance,  composed  principally  of  artists, 
authors,  two  or  three  theatrical  ladies,  rising  barristers,  etc.,  but  mostly  people  with 
something  in  them  — with  talent,  if  it  was  only  that  of  making  themselves  disagreeable. 
Either  man  or  woman  who  can  do  that  has  established  a footing  in  society.  Every 
one  abuses  them ; but  then  every  one  invites  them  for  fear  of  the  consequences  of 
leaving  them  out.  Then  there  were  stray  people  whom  Mrs.  Paynter  had  picked  up 
on  the  Continent,  and  in  divers  places.  That  lady  repudiated  exclusiveness,  and  was 
utterly  indifferent  as  to  what  public  opinion  might  murmur  regarding  her  receptions. 
She  numbered,  too,  a few  of  society’s  creme  de  la  crime  on  her  visiting  list  — men  princi 
pally,  it  must  be  admitted ; but  these  were  rather  proud  of  the  entrie  of  Mrs.  Paynter'a 


26 


Two  Kisses. 


salon,  and  would  often  throw  over  very  grand  invitations  indeed  for  one  of  Lizzie’* 
charade  parties,  little  dinners  down  the  river,  or  gay  dances.  She  never  gave  balls , 
but  what  she  airily  denominated  “just  a valse  or  two  on  the  carpet  and  supper,”  was 
worth  a dozen  regular  balls. 

It  is  the  pleasantest  time  of  the  year  in  London,  — the  beginning  of  October;  just 
a crackle  of  frost  in  the  morning  air,  perhaps  to  be  followed  by  bright  sunshine  and 
a crisp  atmosphere ; much  ozone  in  these  early  October  days  that  quickens  the  blood 
in  the  veins,  and  makes  the  pulses  tingle.  Men  are  dropping  back  from  the  long 
vacation,  bronzed  and  braced  from  moor  and  mountain;  refreshed,  regenerated  from 
strand  and  stream.  Hearty  hand-grips  are  being  exchanged  in  street  and  chambers, 
as  the  busy  toilers  of  professional  London  once  more  put  their  necks  to  the  collar. 

Mi’s.  Paynter  designates  this  the  theatrical  season.  She  is  particularly  fond  of 
making  up  little  cosey  parties  for  an  early  dinner,  and  a box  at  the  theatre  afterwards 
— a quartette  which  her  husband  may  join  if  he  thinks  fit,  is  Mrs.  Paynter’s  idea  of 
seeing  the  drama.  John  Paynter  thinks  theatricals  rather  a bore,  and  seldom  takes 
advantage  of  such  opportunity.  To  get  up  anything  like  a dinner  for  the  widow  was, 
of  course,  preposterous ; her  crape  was  a3  yet  too  deep  to  admit  of  her  joining  in  such 
festivity.  But  just  two  cavaliers  to  take  care  of  them  to  the  Gayety,  she  surely  couldn’t 
mind  that.  She  could  sit  as  far  back  in  the  box  as  she  liked,  and  really  she  could  have 
nothing  but  the  proprieties  to  think  about.  It  was  quite  impossible  she  could  have 
had  any  regard  for  Mark  Hemsworth ; and,  at  all  events,  there  had  been  three  months 
to  get  over  such  regrets  as  might  have  been. 

Mrs.  Paynter,  reflecting  in  this  wise  as  she  drove  away  from  Hanover  street,  on 
arriving  at  her  own  house,  thought  she  could  do  no  better  than  scribble  a couple  of 
notes.  The  first  came  glibly  enough,  and  was  directed  to  Captain  Detfield,  of  Her 
Majesty’s  Guards.  lie  was  her  favored  cavalier  for  the  time  being,  and,  as  she  knew 
he  was  in  town,  who  shall  say  how  much  that  fact  had  to  do  with  the  programme  ohe 
was  making  out  for  Cissy  Hemsworth’s  delectation  ? 

“ Now,”  muttered  Mrs.  Paynter  to  herself,  “ comes  the  difficulty.  Who’s  to  be  the 
other?  As  far  as  a dangler  to  flirt  with  for  the  night  goes,  there’s  half  a dozen  I 
might  write  to,  and  they  generally  come  when  I send  for  them  if  they  can ; but  I 
should  like  to  put  a substantial  admirer  in  her  way  at  once  if  I could,  — some  one 
that  would  do  for  a husband  if  she  subjugated  him ; and  if  the  way  the  men  ran  after 
her  in  Paris  may  be  taken  as  a test,  she’ll  not  want  adorers  here.  Dear  me,  who  shall 
I get  ? There’s  Mr.  Brufflcs,  — he’s  awfully  rich  and  awfully  stupid ; but  then  Cissy 
can’t  expect  everything.  No,  he  won’t  do ; at  all  events  for  to-night.  Charlie  Det- 
field always  makes  such  fun  of  him,  and  though  he  don’t  see  much,  I think  he  does 
eee  that.  Old  Sir  Mannaduke  Rivers,  — dreadful  old  man ! — he’s  on  the  look-out  for  a 
third  wife ; — but  I’m  not  sure  he’s  in  town.  Stop,  I have  it ! Montague  Gore,  if  I can 
catch  him,  — he’s  the  man.  He  is  really  nice,  and  they  say  making  over  two  thousand 
a year  now,  and  his  practice  increasing  every  day ; not  very  impressible  though/ 


Mrs.  Paynter  at  Home. 


27 


mused  Lizzie,  with  some  recollection  of  haying  signally  failed  upon  one  occasion  t« 
entangle  that  gentleman  in  a flirtation,  — a rebuif  that  she  had  always  felt  a little 
aggrieved  about,  although  they  still  remained  good  friends ; but  a woman  never  quite 
forgives  a man  for  having  been  insensible  to  her  fascinations,  and  Lizzie  Paynter 
always  felt  she  should  be  tempted  to  make  another  assault,  if  opportunity  offered. 
Not  that  she  was  smitten  with  him,  but  he  had  declined  to  take  advantage  of  the 
opening  she  had  given  him  at  a certain  water-picnic  a year  ago,  — instead  of  flirting 
with  her  he  had  been  simply  courteous  and  polite,  — insensibly  stupid,  Mrs.  Paynter 
called  it.  That  lady  had  far  too  good  an  opinion  of  her  personal  attractions  to  believe 
a man  could  really  refuse  such  a challenge  from  her,  save  on  the  score  of  great  density, 
or  want  of  savoir  vivre . 

“ Yes,  he  will  do.  I suppose  he  always  carries  his  musty  old  law  business  in  his 
head,  which  accounts  for  his  not  comprehending  us.  I will  write  to  him.,, 

As  Lizzie  Paynter  glides  into  her  drawing-room  to  be  in  readiness  to  receive  her 
guests,  she  certainly  looks  as  if  she  had  fair  grounds  for  being  wrathful  with  any  man 
who  might  refuse  to  do  homage  to  her  charms.  Tall  and  fair,  with  a lovely  com- 
plexion, limpid  blue  eyes,  and  a very  pretty  mouth,  she  is  decidedly  a very  attractive 
woman ; just  at  the  age,  too,  when  a woman  is  in  the  meridian  of  her  beauty,  and 
thoroughly  understands  making  the  veiy  most  of  her  personal  advantages.  With 
plenty  to  say  for  herself,  and  spirits  that  rarely  flag,  no  wonder  that  Lizzie  Paynter  is 
popular.  She  is,  undoubtedly,  with  men,  and  to  a certain  extent  with  her  own  sex, 
for  she  is  good-natured.  But  then  she  has  terrible  piratical  tendencies.  She  is  much 
given  to  lure  both  husbands  and  lovers  from  then’  allegiance.  She  is  coquette  from 
the  crown  of  her  head  to  the  rosettes  on  her  slippers,  and  would  flirt  with  an  arch- 
bishop if  placed  next  him  at  dinner.  She  never  got  hurt  herself  in  all  this  irregular 
warfare.  She  could  get  so  sweetly  sentimental,  and  fancy,  for  the  time  being,  that 
she  was  really  deeply  interested,  — it  was  the  main  business  of  her  life ; but  she  never 
lost  her  head,  nor  made  the  mistake  of  falling  seriously  in  love.  Her  husband 
probably  understood  her ; at  all  events  he  was  of  a phlegmatic  disposition,  and  took 
her  escapades  easily.  Scrapes,  of  course,  she  now  and  then  got  into.  Admirers 
would,  occasionally,  become  too  much  in  earnest,  and  that  wa3  awkward.  She  was 
a clever  woman  in  her  way,  and  rather  enjoyed  a scene,  perhaps,  than  otherwise, 
providing  there  were  no  spectators ; but  then,  as  she  would  say,  plaintively,  “ Men 
will  be  so  foolish  sometimes,  you  know,”  and  occasionally  she  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
be  unable  to  recede  without  some  difficulty. 

Lizzie  is  musing  over  her  programme.  She  has  had  no  answer  from  Montague 
Gore,  which  a little  troubles  her.  True,  the  invitation  was  so  short  that  she  could 
scarcely  expect  one.  She  has  not  heard  from  Charlie  Detfield ; but  that  doesn’t  dis- 
compose her  at  all.  She  would  have  had  a note  ere  this,  had  he  been  on  Hey 
Majesty’s  employ,  — the  only  duty  she  allowed  as  excuse  for  failing  in  duty  to  herself* 


28 


Two  Kisses. 


“But  if  Mr.  Gore  doesn’t  come,  it  will  be  awkward.  I shall  have  to  make  John 
come.  One  gentleman  to  two  ladies  is  so  eminently  unsatisfactory. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Cissy  Hemsworth  swept  into  the  room,  and 
Lizzie  advanced  to  meet  her. 

“ So  very  glad  to  see  you,  dear.  You  are  to  look  upon  this  house  as  you  taught  me 
to  regard  yours  in  Paris  the  year  before  last,  — one  where  I was  always  welcome,  come 
when  I would.” 

“ You  are  very  kind  to  me,”  replied  Cissy,  softly ; “ but  then  I knew  you  would  be.” 

“This  is  my  husband,”  continued  Mrs.  Paynter,  “and  this,  John,  is  the  Mrs. 
Hemsworth,  who  I told  you  made  Paris  Elysium  for  me  the  last  time  I was  there.” 

John  Paynter  welcomed  the  young  widow  in  genuine  hearty  fashion.  It  was  quite 
sufficient  for  him  that  anybody  had  been  kind  or  even  civil  to  his  wife  to  insure  that 
much  at  his  hands,  for,  in  his  quiet,  undemonstrative  way,  he  was  strongly  attached 
to  his  vivacious  partner.  But  Cissy  had  a further  claim  upon  him.  He  knew  that 
she  was  left  unprotected,  and  also  in  indifferent  circumstances,  and  that  appealed 
irresistibly  to  a man  of  his  generous,  chivalrous  nature. 

As  a matter  of  course,  Lizzie  had  taken  this  opportunity  to  run  her  guest  over. 
How  well  she  looks,  and  how  beautifully  she  is  dressed,  she  thought.  I never  could 
have  imagined  that  widow’s  weeds  could  be  so  becoming.  I declare  I think  she  never 
looked  handsomer ; but  here  the  thread  of  her  meditations  was  severed  by  the 
announcement  of  Captain  Detfield. 

Ten  minutes’  desultory  conversation,  and  then  Mrs.  Paynter  announced  that  she 
would  wait  no  longer  for  Mr.  Gore.  With  a theatrical  engagement  afterwards  it 
would  be  absurd,  she  said,  to  say  nothing  of  having  had  no  answer  from  him. 

“ Who’s  the  widow  ? ” asked  Charlie  Detfield,  as  they  ascended  to  the  dining-room. 

“ Didn’t  I tell  you,  sir,  I had  something  to  show  you,  and  isn’t  she  worth  looking 
at  ? You’re  only  to  admire,  you  know,  not  worship.  You’ve  quite  enouglf  to  do  in 
that  way  at  present,  recollect.” 

“Is  it  likely  that  I should  forget  ? Is  it  likely  that  I should  admire  any  other 
woman  in  your  presence  ? ” whispered  the  guardsman,  sentimentally. 

Mrs.  Paynter  looked  at  him  for  a moment,  and,  as  they  entered  the  dining-room, 
retorted : — 

“ Yes ; I think  you’re  quite  capable  of  it.” 

Charlie  Detfield  laughed ; that  scapegrace  guardsman  could  take  very  fair  care  of 
himself.  He  was  always  engaged  in  a desperate  flirtation  with  some  woman  or  other ; 
perhaps  rather  harder  hit  than  usual  just  now ; but  the  pair  were  not  badly  matched, 
though  Lizzie  Paynter  was  a cleverer  practitioner  in  the  art  of  philandering  than  any 
he  had  as  yet  encountered. 

“ I am  going  to  carry  you  off  to  the  Gayety  Theatre,  Cissy,  as  soon  as  dinner  is 
over.  You  won’t  mind,  will  you  ? ” 

“No;  I shall  be  only  too  glad.  I find  my  own  rooms  so  dreadfully  lonely  in  the 


Mrs.  Paynter  at  Ifome.  29 

evening.  It  is  a great  change,  you  know,  from  my  old  life.  I suppose  it  is  very 
stupid  of  me;  but  I have  been  so  used  to  s&ing  lots  of  people. that  I can’t  help  feeling 
it.  I don’t  get  on  well  by  myself,  Lizzie.  Shocking,  isn’t®lf,  Mr.  Paynter,  that  a 
woman  should  have  to  acknowledge  nerself  so#destitute  of  resources  ? ” 

“Well,  of  course,  it  must  come  hard  upon  you  at  first,  Mrs.  Hemsworth,”  returned 
her  host ; “ you  will  soon  get  used  to  it.”  ® 

“Not  she,  you  dear,  stupid  old  John,”  thought  Mrs.  Paynter.  “Don’t  seem  to  try, 
either.”^ 

“I  am  afraid  not,”  rejoined  Cissy,  quietly.  “ I have  had  people  amuse  me  all 
my  life.  I make  a very  bad  hand  of  amusing  myself.” 

“Don’t  think  so  badly  of  London  as  all  that,  Mrs.  Plemsworth”  (he  had  got  the 
name  now),  interposed  the  guardsman,  laughing.  “ There  are  plenty  of  us  will  only 
be  too  happy  to  try  our  utmost  in  that  respect.  Only  wait  till  you  know  us,  and  you 
will  have  no  cause  to  complain.” 

Cissy  smiled,  and  a very  sweet  smile  i£  was.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who  do 
great  execution  ip  silence. 

“Really,  Captain  Detfield,  I must  protest,”  cried  Mrs.  Paynter,  laughing.  “I 
know  the  chivalry  of  your  nature  invariably  prompts  you  to  succor  the  afflicted ; but, 
sir,  your  sole  mission  has  been  to  amuse  me,  of  late,”  and,  continued  Lizzie,  with  a 
little  moue , “ I can  hardly  give  you  a character  for  being  successful.” 

“ I suppose  not ; anxiety  to  succeed  always  mars  our  most  strenuous  efforts.  The 
more  we  try,  the  more  we  don’t  do  it.  Whenever  we  are  very  keen  to  win,  we  always 
lose;  — moral,  nil  admirari ; — but  then,  Mrs.  Paynter,  you  should  not  make  such  a 
point  of  always  upsetting  it.” 

“ Very  pretty ; how  often,  pray,  have  you  said  that  to  us  before  ? But  it’s  time  to 
start.  You  will  come  with  us,  John  ? ” 

“Yes,  of  course,”  returned  Mr.  Paynter,  recognizing  and  responding  to  the 
matrimonial  signal ; “ I’ll  ring  for  the  carnage  at  once.” 

“ Ah ! that’s  good  of  yoii.  We  really,  Cissy,  could  hardly  trust  Captain  Detfield  to 
entertain  the  two  of  us  between  the  acts.” 

“ I am  sure  Captain  Detfield  would  take  excellent  care  of  us,”  replied  Mrs.  Hems* 
worth,  “ but  I don’t  think  we  could  do  without  Mr.  Paynter,  also.  You  will  be  sure 
to  enjoy  it.” 

Very  considerable  misgivings  on  that  point  had  good-humored  John  Paynter,  but 
ne  was  loyal  as  an  Arab  to  the  laws  of  bread  and  salt,  and  little  likely  to  let  Cissy 
Hemsworth  want  a cavalier,  even  had  he  not  received  his  wife’s  hint. 

Half  an  hour  more,  and  they  were  all  at  the  Gayety,  listening  to  the  pretty  music, 
and  laughing  at  the  fun  of  the  Princess  of  Trebizonde. 

Mrs.  Paynter  was  carrying  on  an  apparently  deeply  interesting  conversation  with 
Charlie  Detfield ; Cissy  gazing,  with  a smile  on  her  face,  at  the  business  of  the  stage, 
whij©  John  Paynter,  at  the  back  of  the  box,  was  alternately  pinching  himself  to  keej 


30 


Two  Kisses. 


awake,  and  stifling  a most  irordinate  craving  for  tobacco,  when  the  door  of  the  box 
quietly  opened,  and  Montague  Gore,  stepping  in,  greeted  his  hostess  that  should  have 
been,  and  apologized  for  not  having  joined  her  party  sooner,  on  the  grounds  that  he 
did  not  receive  her  note  till  too  late  to  allow  of  his  doing  so. 

Mrs.  Paynter  received  his  excuses  graciously,  and  then  said,  “ Cissy,  let  me  intro- 
duce you  to  Mr.  Gore.” 

“ Mr.  Gore  and  I are  old  friends,  if  he  will  allow  me  to  call  him  so,”  replied  Cissy, 
as  she  extended  her  hand.  “ If  it  had  not  been  for  his  unwearied  kindness  a short 
time  back,  I don’t  know  what  would  have  become  of  me.” 

“ Good  gracious ! Mrs.  Hemsworth!  ” exclaimed  the  barrister.  “ I little  dreamt  of 
meeting  you  to-night.” 

“ Here,  take  my  place,  Gore,”  murmured  John  Paynter.  “ It’s  just  charity,  for  I'm 
froze  for  a cigar ; ” and,  vacating  his  seat,  he  slipped  out  of  the  box. 

“ And  he  was  your  barrister,  was  he,  Cissy  ? ” thought  Mrs.  Paynter,  smiling. 
4<  Ah ! my  dear,  it’s  a great  relief  to  me  to  have  come  to  the  * him  ’ at  last.  Now, 
unless  you  have  that  mysterious  other  that  I have  always  dimly  suspected  in  the  far 
background,  you  two  would  suit  admirably.  You  should  reward  the  knight  that 
rescued  beauty  in  her  difficulties  with  your  fair,  but  penniless  hand.  Those  dragons 
of  the  early  ages,  I suspect,  were  only  metaphorical  representations  of  the  relentless 
ci editors  of  the  nineteenth  century.” 

“ Tell  me,  Captain  Detfield,  don’t  you  think  the  ogre  of  our  childhood  typical  of  the 
money-lender,  the  hydra  of  the  ancients,  their  mythical  idea  of  compound  interest  ? 
I have  heard  it  said  you  should  be  a judge  of  such  things.” 

Charlie  started ; there  wa3  a bitterness  in  his  companion’s  tones,  such  as  he  had 
never  heard  before.  Again,  although  his  pecuniary  difficulties  were  no  secret  among 
his  intimates,  yet  he  was  immensely  surprised  to  hear  them  thus  hinted  at  by  Mrs. 
Paynter.  There  are  troubles  men  do  not  confide  to  the  women  they  love,  unless  they 
are  tlieir  wives.  Money  troubles  are  of  this  nature. 

“ I don’t  know,”  he  said,  after  a slight  pause,  “ who  has  been  good  enough  to  tell 
you  that  I am  to  some  extent  involved.  If  it  was  a man,  he’s  a fool,  and  a mischievous 
one ; but  I won’t  pretend  to  you  that  it  i3  not  the  case.  Yes,  Mrs.  Paynter,  compound 
interest  is  very  like  consumption : a complaint  that  a man  don’t  often  get  the  better  of. 

“ Poor  Charlie ; I’m  so  sorry  to  hear  that  it  is  true,”  murmured  the  lady,  softly. 

“ It’s  well  worth  being  in  the  toils  to  hear  you  say  so,”  herejoined,  in  a low  whisper. 

“ Hush ! I want  to  hear  this,”  replied  Lizzie ; and,  having  flashed  a quick,  responsive 
glance  up  into  his  face,  she  turned  towards  the  stage. 

“ And  so  you  are  in  London,  Mrs.  Hemsworth ; for  how  long  ? ” inquired  Gore. 

“ 1 don’t  know,”  returned  Cissy.  “ I never  did  know,  you  remember,  anything 
about  my  own  affairs.  But  I am  settled  in  Hanover  street  for  some  little  time  now, 
where,”  she  continued,  looking  gravely  up  at  him,  “ if  you  will  come  and  see  me,  I 
mil  try  to  thank  you  properly  for  all  yor  have  done  for  me,  A very  modest  estab 


Mrs.  Paynter  at  Home . 


3] 


fishment  indeed.  You  understand,  none  better,  that  I can  afford  no  other  now,  — only 
lodgings.  It  is  a change  after  being  used  to  a big  house  of  one’s  own,’  she  con- 
cluded, plaintively. 

“You  know,  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  nobody  could  be  more  sincerely  sony  for  you  than 
myself.” 

“ I know,”  replied  Cissy,  “that  no  one  took  half  the  pains  to  assist  me  that  you  did. 
There  were  many  old  friends  who  professed  much  sorrow  for  the  tribulation  I was  in, 
but  the  only  person  who  came  to  my  succor  was  a comparative  stranger,  — yourself.  I 
am  never  likely  to  forget  that.” 

“ You  give  me  more  credit  than  I deserve,”  replied  Gore,  quietly.  “ I happened  to 
be  a man  of  business.  Your  friends  probably  were  not.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  plenty  of  them  were.  I think,  you  know,”  she  continued,  slowly,  “ that 
they  thought  I was  not  worth  helping,  — that  I should  never  entertain  them  again. 
What  did  it  matter  what  became  of  me  ? I know  I am  not  clever ; but  I fancy  society 
don’t  care  about  you  when  you  are  in  trouble.” 

“ We  won’t  discuss  that,  Mrs.  Hemsworth ; but  I did  want  to  know  where  you  were.” 
Cissy  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him. 

“ Yes,”  he  continued,  rapidly,  “ I have  got  a clue ; it  is  a mere  thread  as  yet,  and  I 
don’t  know  what  may  come  of  it.  I have  an  idea ; a wild  idea,  perhaps  I had  better 
call  it,  — but  still  an  idea  that  there  is  some  property  belonging  to  you  in  this  country. 
I can’t  say  how  much.  I can’t  guess  as  yet  how  much,  — big  or  little,  I can’t  say, — 
but  still  something.  I shall  work  it  out  though,  if  you  will  give  me  authority  to  do 
so.  It  was  that  I wanted  from  you.  You  can  trust  me,  can  you  not  ? ” 

Cissy  extended  her  hand ; and,  as  he  clasped  it,  replied : — 

“ Thoroughly.  Come  and  see  me,  and  you  shall  have  full  credentials.” 

“It’s  just  over,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter.  “Let  us  get  away  before  the  crush 
comes.  Would  you  go  and  look  for  the  carriage,  Captain  Detfield,  please  ? And 
John,  he’s  betaken  himself  to  a cigar,  I know.” 

But,  at  this  moment,  Mr.  Paynter  re-entered  the  box,  and  announced  that  he  had 
already  accomplished  that  eirand. 

“ Then  the  sooner  we  depart  the  better,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  as  she  took  the 
guardsman’s  arm.  “We  will  put  you  down,  Cissy,  on  our  way.” 

“Good-night,  Mr.  Gore,  and  don’t  forget  your  promise,”  said  Cissy,  once  more 
extending  her  little  hand,  as  she  stepped  into  the  brougham. 

Montague  Gore  stood  for  a moment  looking  after  the  receding  carriage,  but  hi 
meditations  were  speedily  interrupted  by  Charlie  Detfield,  who,  having  lit  a cigar, 
suggested  they  should  adjourn  to  the  “ Aluminium  ” for  a quiet  smoke. 

3 


Two  JCtSMS , 


as 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  MAJOR’S  BUSINESS. 

Major  Claxby  Jenkens  had  offices  in  John  street,  Adelphi,  though  what  busmen* 
it  was  that  the  major  earned  on  in  those  two  dingy,  barely-furnished  rooms,  wTas  still 
a mystery  to  those  who  had  puzzled  their  brains  concerning  it.  The  major’s  business 
hours  were  not  of  long  duration.  He  arrived  every  morning  at  twelve  punctually, 
and  left  between  three  and  four.  His  clients,  though  not  numerous,  wrere  usually 
young  and  well-dressed,  and  although,  as  may  be  supposed,  principally  of  the  male 
sex,  were  not  so  altogether.  Trailing  robes  of  silk  and  satin  had  swept  those  stairs 
ere  this,  in  their  anxiety  to  persuade  the  major  to  do  his  duty  towards  his  neighbor. 

Claxby  Jenkens  was  a tolerably  well-known  man  upon  town,  and  yet  nobody  ever 
felt  very  sure  that  they  knew  anything  about  Claxby  Jenkens.  He  was  of  somewhat 
doubtful  status  in  society.  He  belonged  to  two  or  three  tolerable  clubs,  but  nobody 
could  tell  you  anything  about  his  early  career.  He  called  himself  late  of  the  Indian 
army ; but  it  was  curious  that  no  old  Indian  officer  ever  could  remember  meeting  him. 
Colonel  Prawn,  late  of  the  Bombay  Fusileers,  whom  the  major  had  offended  past  for- 
giveness by  selling  him  one  evening  at  pool,  declared : — 

44  By  G — d,  sir ! the  d fellow  never  was  in  the  service  at  all ! ” 

General  Hamrice,  whom  the  major  had  handled  rather  severely  at  icarti , stated  as 
his  opinion : — 

44  Jenkens  — yes,  sir — oh  yes,  he  was  in  the  service ; but  he’s  a long-headed  fellow, 
Jenkens,  — he  found  he  wasn’t  getting  on,  so  he  left ; and  as  the  Horse  Guards  had 
neglected  to  promote  him,  Gad,  sir ! he  didn’t  bother  them,  but  just  gazetted  himself. 
Indian  service,  — no,  no,  that  won’t  do.  Why,  Prawn  there  will  tell  you  that  he  doesn’t 
know  the  difference  between  a bungalow  and  Bangalore.” 

Still,  when  the  major  took  a turn  in  the  park  of  an  afternoon  (he  was  seldom  seen 
there  in  the  morning) , there  were  plenty  of  men,  well  known  in  the  fashionable  world, 
who  nofded  to  him,  and  occasionally  a lady  bowed.  He  was  not  a man  that  you 
would  expect  to  find  at  balls,  routs,  the  opera,  etc.,  but  he  turned  up  at  mixed  dinner- 
parties sometimes.  On  these  occasions  he  usually  contented  himself  with  a double 
gold-rimmed  eyeglass,  in  lieu  of  spectacles,  and  seemed  to  be  perfectly  able  to  get 
along  with  that. 

The  major’s  clients  rarely  alluded  to  their  connection  with  him.  They  made  no 
pretence  of  knowing  what  his  business  was.  If  you  had  asked  them,  they  would 
probably  have  answered  you  in  this  wise  : — 

“ Oh,  he’s  a doosid  good  fellow,  you  know,  old  Claxby  Jenkens.  What  does  he  do  ? 


The  Major's  Business. 


33 


Blessed  if  I know.  Whether  he  deals  in  flax  or  fluids,  I haven’t  an  idea.  I went  to 
him  upon  quite  another  matter  altogether.” 

The  major  usually  described  himself  as  a general  dealer,  who  bought  upon  com- 
missic  n.  What  did  he  buy  ? Anything  ? Perhaps  he  might ; still  you  never  came 
across  any  one  who  had  employed  Claxby  Jenkens  very  much  in  that  way.  True, 
here  and  there  he  had  conducted  a negotiation  for  the  purchase  of  a house,  a pair  of 
carriage-horses,  etc. ; yet  he  hardly  did  sufficient  in  that  way  to  warrant  his  regular 
attendance  at  his  office.  But  it  was  whispered  among  the  impecunious  of  the  fashion- 
able world  that  Major  Jenkens  was  the  man  of  all  others  who  could  put  you  in  the 
way  of  raising  money  at  short  notice ; not  that  he  was  a money-lender,  — nothing 
of  the  sort.  Young  men  who  had  gone  to  him  with  that  idea  had  often  descended 
those  dirty  stairs  in  John  street  quite  overwhelmed  with  the  major’s  virtuous  indigna- 
tion at  their  hinting  such  a thing.  Neophytes  these,  who  usually  came  back  when 
they  had  learnt  their  lesson  better.  Claxby  Jenkens  didn’t  lend  money;  but  if  you 
were  worth,  or  likely  to  be  worth  anything,  he  could  and  would  introduce  you  to 
those  who  did. 

The  major,  in  short,  was  simply  an  agent  to  some  of  the  leading  money-lenders, 
and  received  a handsome  bonus  for  every  introduction  he  furnished.  Living  muck 
in  the  world,  and  an  astute  man  to  boot,  he  knew  pretty  well  those  who  were  likely  to 
prove  profitable  to  hi3  employers,  — those  who  were  not  worth  wasting  powder  and 
shot  over.  The  bill-discounters  placed  immense  confidence  in  him.  It  was  seldom 
that  he  estimated  a borrower  at  his  wrong  value.  The  secret  was  well  kept,  and  of 
the  many  who  passed  through  his  hands,  there  were  few  suspected  that  he  had  any 
interest  in,  or  made  profit  out  of,  their  necessities.  To  those  who  came  to  him  properly 
tutored,  he  was  quite  fatherly  in  his  advice. 

“ My  dear  boy,”  he  would  say,  “ do  without  it  if  you  can,  — ask  your  own  people  for 
it,  — anything.  When  you  once  pay  over  five  per  cent,  for  money,  it’s  only  a matter 
of  time.  You’re  bound  to  be  broke.” 

But  of  course  the  major  knew  they  couldn’t  do  without  it,  and  that  they  could  not 
ask  “ their  own  people  ” for  it,  or  they  would  not  have  been  in  John  street ; so,  finally 
he  furnished  them  with  the  address  of  one  of  his  employers,  and  felt  tranquilly  that 
he  had  done  his  duty  towards  his  neighbor  and  himself. 

To  older  and  more  hardened  offenders  the  major  naturally  took  a different  tone. 

“ Sorry  to  hear  you  want  it,”  he  would  say,  “ but  it’s  no  use  preaching.  I should 
think  you  would  find  Simeon  Levi,  in  Gray’s  inn,  as  reasonable  as  any  one,  and  he’d 
most  likely  accommodate  you;  but  his  price  is  ruinous,  of  course.  They  all  are.  I 
found  them  so  to  my  cost,  years  ago ; and  I don’t  suppose  you  will  fare  better  than  I 
did.” 

The  major,  too,  had  other  ways  of  working  out  his  nefarious  livelihood.  In  spite 
of  his  gentlemanly  exterior  and  courteous  address,  there  was  no  more  unscrupulous 
scoundrel  in  all  London,  tad  yet  this  man  passed  as  a gentleman  in  society.  Those 


4 


Two  Kisses . 


within  his  power  naturally  made  no  protest.  The  secret  of  his  inner  life  was  we3 
kept,  and  though  the  Colonel  Prawns  and  General  Hamrices  of  this  world  might 
murmur  against  him,  and  speak  dubiously  of  his  military  career,  yet  he  held  his  own 
bravely.  Little  did  those  gentlemen  think  how  veiy  much  even  their  estimate  of 
Major  Claxby  Jenkens  was  above  the  reality. 

It  is  always  curious  to  reflect  upon  in  club  life  how  utterly  ignorant  we  are  of  the 
real  history  of  those  writh  whom  wre  associate.  The  man  wrhom  you  chat  with,  dine 
with,  smoke  with,  and  who  generally  forestalls  you  in  the  rush  for  the  evening 
papers,  may  be  miserably  impecunious,  and  living  in  an  adjoining  garret,  or  he  may 
be  revelling  in  a luxurious  house  and  table,  with  forgery  as  a profession.  We  dc 
have  an  explosion  every  now  and  then,  which  floods  the  journals ; but  there  are  a 
good  many  surprises,  the  story  of  which  is  only  whispered  with  bated  breath  in  those 
conventual  establishments. 

The  major  is  sitting  at  his  desk  wrapped  in  a brown  study.  A pile  of  letters  lies 
beside  him,  for  his  correspondence  is  usually  both  voluminous  and  varied.  One  is 
spread  opened  before  him,  and  it  is  that,  apparently,  which  has  plunged  him  ink)  such 
deep  reverie 

“Dear  Jenks,” — it  ran,  — “have  been  away  to  St.  Petersburg  on  a private  errand 
the  last  four  months  — only  got  back  here  the  night  before  last.  The  news  is  probably 
stale  to  you ; but  as  you  asked  me  always  to  let  you  know  anything  about  the  Hems- 
worths,  at  the  risk  of  repetition  I send  it.  I suppose  you  know  M.  II.  died  three 
months  ago  or  more.  I always  told  you  he  over-speculated.  I was  right ; he  did, 
and  his  widow  is  left  penniless.  What  you  may  not  know,  is  that  she  suddenly  left 
Paris,  and  has  gone  nobody  knows  where.  What  do  you  think  of  Peruvians  your 
side  of  the  channel  ? and  what,  you  old  fox,  would  you  discount  the  Prince  Imperial’s 
prospects  at  ? He’ll  be  worth  backing  before  the  Septennate  is  out.  Tniers  will 
hardly  witness  that,  though  some  people  vow  it  wont  require  to  live  very  long  to  see 
the  finish  of  it.  Rouher  will  be  the  best  man  when  the  scramble  comes,  and  that,  of 
course,  means  the  empire  again.  Bien  I we  financiers  never  made  money  as  quick  as 
under  Louis  Napoleon,  so  I say  Vive  V Empereur  l As  for  the  Orleanists,  they  com- 
mitted political  suicide  when  they  made  up  a quarrel  of  forty  odd  years  standing 
with  the  elder  branch.  How  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Chambord  could  ever  have  been 
consi  tered  a political  fact  puzzles  extremely, 

“ Yours  sincerely, 

“ Adolphe  Rather. 

“ Paris,  October  6, 1874.” 

The  major  twisted  and  twirled  this  epistle  between  his  restless  fingers.  It  so  hap- 
pened the  intelligence  of  Mark  Hemsworth’s  death  was  news  to  him.  It  had  never 
been  copied  into  the  English  papers.  Why  should  it  ? Mark  Hemsworth,  though  ai 


The  Major's  Business. 


85 


Englishman  by  birth,  had  been  long  resident  in  Paris.  If  he  had  relatives  in  his  own 
country,  he  had  utterly  ceased  to  hold  any  communication  with  them.  He  had  been 
of  the  Bourse  of  Paris  for  many  years,  so  thoroughly  identified  with  the  French 
Stock  Exchange  that  his  nationality  would  hardly  occur  to  the  journalists.  At  all 
events,  his  decease  had  occasioned  no  comment  in  the  English  papers.  There  had 
been  no  scandal  connected  with  his  death,  — nothing  to  make  it  worth  the  notice  of  the 
correspondents  of  the  “ Times,”  Telegraph,”  “ Standard,”  etc.,  to  call' attention  to. 
No  wonder  the  major,  like  Mrs.  Paynter,  had  npver  heard  of  it;  and  yet  Claxby 
Jenkens  had  an  interest  in  knowing  how  it  fared  with  Mark  Hemsworth  and  his 
wife. 

“ Poor  child ! ” he  murmured,  “ I wonder  where  she  is.  I did  it  for  the  best,  and 
yet  she  must  want  help  now ; ” and  this  battered,  hardened  old  marauder  dropped  his 
head  upon  his  hands,  and,  if  he  did  not  actually  weep,  exhibited  signs  of  genuine 
emotion,  such  as  would  have  shaken  the  confidence  of  his  employers  sadly.  Indul- 
gence in  emotion  is  quite  incompatible  with  the  profession  of  money-lending. 

“ She  must  be  found,”  he  muttered,  at  length.  “ I will  write  to  Kayner.  If  she  is 
still  in  Paris,  and  she  may  be,  he  won’t  be  long  before  he  knows  where.  The  police 
there  keep  a more  stringent  eye  on  people’s  movements  than  we  do,  and  Madame 
Hemsworth  was  too  well  known  to  disappear  easily.  If  she  has  left  — well,  even 
then  they  may  have  a clue  as  to  where  she  left  for.  Penniless  ? I am  not  so  sure  of 
that.  I think  not,  if  I could  but  find  her.  There’s  another  man,  too,  I shall  have  to 
hunt  up  about  this  business ; but  he  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  put  my  hand  on. 
Well,  now  for  the  rest  of  them,”  he  continued,  turning  towards  his  letters  once  more. 
“ Hum ! 1 Will  call  in  at  twelve.  Yours  truyl,  Charlie  Detfield.’  But  Detfield  must 
know  that  he  has  got  to  the  end  of  his  tether,  and  that  the  money-lenders  'will  have 
no  more  of  him.  Of  course  he  seeks  to  prolong  the  agony  — they  all  do,  just  as  a 
man  who  can’t  swim  struggles  when  drowning  is  inevitable.  What’s  this  ? ” 


“ Dear  Jenkens  : — I’ve  a young  lady  to  dispose  of,  good  looking,  and  with  a tidy 
bit  of  money,  say  thirty  thousand  pounds  or  so.  She  has  just  made  her  courtesy  to 
society.  Her  lamented  fathey  made  his  fortune  in  cheese,  and  she  is  living  with  two 
maiden  aunts  at  Islington.  As  her  guardian,  I think  the  sooner  she  is  married  the 
better.  With  a little  coaching,  she  would  be  quite  presentable  at  the  West  in  no  time, 
for  she’s  a quick,  clever  girl.  If  you’ve  an  impoverished  swell  on  hand,  we  might 
make  up  an  eligible  match.  She  finds  the  money ; he  posHion,  Drop  me  a line. 

« Yours, 

“ James  Koxby 

“ 16  Fenchurch  street.” 


“ Now,”  mused  the  major,  “ if  ever  two  letters  fitted  in  beautifully,  it’s  these.  If 
Charlie  Detfield,  when  he  comes  here,  is  not  prepared  to  take  up  the  bills  he  has  out* 


86 


Two  Kisses. 


instead  of  wishing  to  do  others,  I shall  put  this  strenuously  before  him.  Why,  IPa 
the  very  thing  for  him,  and  in  his  own  interest  as  well  as  mine ; I shall  give  Simmonds 
a hint  to  put  on  the  screw  if  he  pleases.  It’d  put  him  straight,  put  her  into  society 
and  put  something  very  comfortable  into  Roxby’s  pocket,  and  mine,  no  doubt. 
Under  such  circumstances,  we  can’t  have  any  nonsense  about  feelings,  etc.,  and  if  he 
ha3  any  other  att^hment,  unless  it’s  a very  satisfactory  one,  well,  he  must  just 
swallow  it  at  once,  and  have  done  with  it.  He’s  too  deeply  dipped  to  indulge  in 
sentiment.  Matrimony  with  him  must  mean  money,  and  the  latter  he  must  come  by 
pretty  quickly.  His  prospects  of  marriage  won’t  improve  by  having  to  leave  the 
Guards.” 

Suddenly  his  clerk  glided  into  the  room  with  u Gentlemen  to  see  you,  sir,”  and 
placed  in  his  hand  the  card  of  the  subject  of  his  meditations. 

“ Show  him  in,”  replied  the  major,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and 
beginning  rapidly  to  run  over  in  his  mind  the  arguments  he  intended  urging. 

“ How  are  you,  Jenkens  ? ” said  the  guardsman,  as  he  entered  the  room,  with  a 
nonchalance  sadly  suggestive  of  its  being  neither  his  first  visit,  nor  the  doing  of  his 
first  bill. 

“ Good-morning,  Captain  Detfield;  charmed  to  see  you.  You’ve  come,  I suppose, 
about  those  horses  of  Packenham’s ; there’s  one  would  suit  you  well,  perfect  hack, 
and  can  jump  a bit  besides.” 

The  major  kept  up  the  fiction  of  being  a general  commission  agent,  with  wonderful 
pertinacity,  and  unless  you  humored  him  in  this  particular  you  were  little  likely  to 
get  anything  else  out  of  him. 

But  Detfield  understood  this  thoroughly,  and  replied  as  if  the  acquirement  of  that 
identical  hack  was  the  sole  thing  wanting  to  complete  his  happiness. 

“ Just  what  I wanted  to  talk  to  you  about;  only  two  questions.  Is  it  sound  in  its 
wind  ? Would  he  look  at  a hundred  guineas  ? ” 

“ Sound  as  a bell,  I believe ; but  I think  he’d  want  a trifle  more  than  that.” 

“ I was  afraid  so ; it’s  beyond  my  figure,  then,  for  the  times  are  hard,  and,  in  my 
profession,  we  can’t  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  strikes,  although  the  pay  of  the  British 
officer  has  remained  stationary  for  hard  on  to  a century,  and  the  agricultural  laborers’ 
grievances  are  nothing  to  ours.” 

“ Never  mind  — it  is  sufficient  that  I know  you  want  a hack ; there  are  plenty  more 
horses  than  Packenham’s.  I undertake  to  find  you  a hack  before  the  month  is  out, 
that  shall  suit  in  every  respect ; including  price.” 

“ Thanks;  and  now  by  the  way,  Jenkens,  do  you  think  Simmonds  would  be  good 
fur  another  three  hundred  ? I must  have  it,  and  it’s  better  not  to  break  fresh  ground 
if  one  can  help  it.” 

The  major  put  on  his  spectacles  with  great  deliberation,  lnd  then  commenced 
stabbing  his  desk  slowly  with  a small  penknife. 


The  Major's  Business.  37 

“ Excuse  me,  Captain  Detfield,”  he  said  at  length,  “ but  what  do  you  suppose  will 
be  the  end  of  this  ? ” 

The  young  man’s  face  flushed,  and  he  drew  his  breath  hard  before  he  replied : — 

“ What’s  to  be  the  end  of  it,  major  ? Well,  unless  I’ve  a turn  at  Newmarket,  I 
suppose  a pretty  general  smash  will  be  the  end  of  it.  I shall  have  to  realize  the 
commission,  and  leave  the  dear  old  corps.” 

“ Well,  why  don’t  you  pull  up  ? ” inquired  the  major,  as  innocently  as  if  in  ignorance 
of  the  “ why.” 

“ Pooh ! you  know  all  about  it.  I’m  going  down  hill  with  no  skid  on,  and  there’s 
no  stopping  the  coach  then  till  you  get  to  the  bottom.” 

“ But  if  a way  was  pointed  out  to  you  of  escaping  all  this,”  observed  the  major, 
impaling  a small  wafer-box  with  his  penknife. 

“ I’d  say  I’d  come  across  a conjuror,”  interposed  Charlie  Detfield,  quickly. 

‘‘Well,  I don’t  claim  to  be  that,”  replied  the  major,  smiling.  “But  did  it  never 
occur  to  you  to  mend  your  fortunes  by  matrimony  ? f Why  don’t  you  marry  ? ” 

“ What,  a pot  of  money  ? ” said  Charlie,  after  a short  pause.  “ No,  I don’t  think 
that  would  do,”  he  continued  slowly,  as  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  object  of  his 
present  infatuation. 

“ Why  shouldn’t  it  ? A man  in  your  position  has  lots  of  opportunities.” 

“You  mistake  there.  If  you  mean  that  I know  plenty  of  girls  with  money,  you 
arc  right ; but  if  you  think  the  authorities  would  allow  them  to  marry  a penniless 
devil  like'  myself,  you’re  pretty  considerably  out.  I can’t  say  I ever  thought  about  it. 
It  never  occurred  to  me  to  get  out  ot  the  wood  in  that  way ; but  I do  know  that  it’s 
none  so  easy,  even  if  I cared  to  try.” 

“But,”  retorted  the  major,  “ supposing  I could  introduce  you  to  a nice  girl,  with  a 
very  pretty  fortune ; would  you  try  then  ? ” 

“Hum!  I can’t  say,”  answered  Charlie,  slowly.  “I  don’t  quite  like  the  idea.  It’s 
rather  mean,  marrying  a girl  for  her  money.” 

“ It’s  done  every  day,  and  you  would  give  something  on  your  side  to  balance  it,  — 
position.” 

“She’s  easily  contented,  if  she  thinks  being  wife  to  a subaltern  in  the  Guards 
position,”  laughed  Charlie. 

“ But  it  would  be  to  her,”  exclaimed  the  major,  quickly.  “ Your  connections  are 
good ; your  people  of  good  status  in  society.” 

“ Bather  sounds  as  if  she  and  her  belongings  were  very  much  the  reverse,”  observed 
Detfield,  dryly. 

“Just  so;  you  don’t  expect  to  get  everything  for  nothing.  If  her  people  made 
their  money  in  trade,  what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ? Everybody  is  going  in  for  trade 
nowadays,  or  business,  as  they  prefer  to  term  it.  Same  thing,  only  it  sounds  bettei 
in  conversation.  What  do  you  say  to  it  ? ” 


Two  Kisses. 


M I don’t  know.  Of  course,  I couldn’t  say  anything-  till  I had  seen  the  young  lady, 
at  all  events.  But  on  the  whole,  I think  I’d  rather  not  have  anything  to  do  with  it.” 

The  major  said  nothing,  but  continued  lazily  to  stab  his  desk  with  his  penknife, 
though  ever  and  anon  he  shot  a keen  glance  at  Detfield  from  under  his  spectacles. 

. “Well,  do  you  think  I had  better  try  Simmonds  again,  or  not  ? ” inquired  Charlie, 
after  a pause  of  some  seconds. 

“ Certainly,  try  him ; but  unless  you  can  point  to  some  forthcoming  improvement  in 
your  prospects,  I think  he’s  likely  to  turn  rusty  — ” 

“ And  unaccommodating,  eh  ? Well,  it  will  be  a bore  that,  because  I must  have 
the  money  somehow.” 

44  Why  not  think  over  what  I’ve  been  saying  to  you  ? ” 

“ Because  I don’t  fancy  it  a bit.  No ; if  I’m  to  go  a mucker,  as  I suppose  I am, 
I’ll  not  get  out  of  it  that  way,”  said  Charlie,  rising.  “ Good-by ; ” and  having  shook 
hands  with  the  major,  Detfield  took  his  departure. 

Claxby  Jenkens  stabbed  his  desk  somewhat  viciously,  as  the  door  closed  on  his 
visitor. 

“ Young  idiot ! ” he  muttered.  “ Salvation  is  offered  him,  and  he  literally  turns  up 
his  nose  at  it.  I suppose  there’s  a woman  in  the  case.  I must  find  out  who  she  is  for 
one  thing,  and  recommend  Simmonds  to  be  tolerably  hard  on  him,  for  another. 
When  he  finds  the  screw  put  on,  he’ll  be  more  amenable  to  reason.  The  idea  of  the 
young  fool  not  actually  jumping  at  such  a chance  as  I placed  before  him ! Well,  I 
suppose  at  five-and-twenty  we  haven’t  as  yet  learned  what  is  best  for  us.  But  I’m 
going  to  be  a good  friend  to  you,  Charlie  Detfield,  whether  you  will  cr  no,  and  for 
Hie  best  of  all  possible  reasons,  that  my  interest  requires  me  to  be  so.” 

*0^00 

CHAPTER  VII. 

HE  MUST  MARRY  MONEY. 

44 1 really  can’t  make  up  my  mind  about  her,”  mused  Mrs.  Paynter,  as  she  sat 
dawdling  over  her  tea  and  toast,  a few  days  after  her  visit  to  the  Gayety  Theatre. 
“John  says  she’s  charming,  and  took  the  earliest  opportunity  of  going  off  for  a cigar; 
but  then  John  always  does  that.  It  was  odd  that  Montague  Gore  should  turn  out  to 
be  the  man  who  came  to  her  assistance  in  Paris.  Well,  that’s  a great  point  in  her 
favor.  She’s  intimate  with  him  to  start  with.  I thought  it  might  do  before ; I am 
sure  it  would  now.  And  how  beautifully  she  carried  it  off  last  night ! IIow  inno- 
cently she  asked  him  to  come  and  see  her!  Upon  my  word,  I don’t  know  at  this 
minute  whether  she’s  the  deepest  woman  I ever  met,  or  next  door  to  a fool.  She 
fpeaks  with  a confidence  about  her  future  that  can  only  be  the  result  of  intense  re)  .ance 


39 


He  Must  Marry  Money. 

on  her  own  capabilities,  or  utter  ignorance  of  the  world.  Surely  she’s  lived  too  much  in 
it  to  be  the  latter.  Yet  there  are  few  women,  who,  brought  up  ir  luxury,  on  finding  them- 
selves thrown  pretty  well  friendless  upon  their  own  resources  — for  what  is  a thousand 
pounds  ? — who  wouldn’t  blench  at  the  prospect.  And  yet  she  does  not.  Poor 
Charlie,  too ; if  all  I hear’s  true,  his  circumstances  are  getting  desperate.  I don’t 
quite  care  about  him  to  the  extent  he  thinks,  but  I’m  fond  of  him  in  my  way,  and  am 
very  sorry  to  discover  that  he’s  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines.  Oh,  dear ! I don’t 
know  how  it  is,  but  it’s  one’s  pleasantest  acquaintance  that  come  to  grief  always. 
Bah ! ” she  exclaimed,  with  a little  grimace,  “ there  are  a good  many  people  I know, 
who  I’d  insure  from  trouble  on  those  very  grounds.” 

At  that  instant  a servant  entered  the  room,  and,  presenting  a visiting  card  on  a 
salver,  said:  — 

“ The  gentleman  begs  to  know  if  you  can  see  him,  madam,  for  a few  minutes.” 

" ‘ Major  Claxby  Jenkens.’  I never  heard  of  him  in  my  life.  Never  mind ; show 
him  up,  William.” 

The  major  was  not  the  man  to  let  the  grass  grow  under  his  feet  when  he  had  once 
decided  upon  anything.  He  had  determined  that  Charlie  Detfield  should  marry  this 
Islington  heiress,  and  at  once  set  to  work  to  see  how  it  was  to  be  brought  about.  It 
was  not  difficult  for  a man  like  the  major  to  find  out,  in  the  course  of  a couple  of 
days,  a good  deal  about  Detfi eld’s  life  and  habits.  He  was  not  long  before  he  heard 
that  Charlie  was  at  present  epris  with  that  pretty  Mrs.  Pavnter,  over  whom  society 
was  habituated  to  sigh  and  shake  its  head  a good  deal.  The  major  knew  Mrs.  Paynter 
perfectly  by  sight,  though  he  had  never  taken  any  veiy  great  notice  of  her  so  far ; 
but  the  major  knew  a wonderful  lot  of  people  in  this  fashion,  and  could  have  written 
slight  biographical  sketches  of  many  of  them  besides. 

It  does  not  follow  that  he  had  any  wish  to  make  their  acquaintance ; still  he  did 
quite  consider  it  part  of  his  business  to  know  everybody  about  town  by  sight,  and  to 
know  as  much  more  about  them  as  he  could  manage  to  pick  up.  Pie  thought  he  could 
form  a pretty  correct  estimate  of  Mrs.  Paynter,  and  he  conceived  the  bold  design  of 
enlisting  her  as  an  ally  in  his  scheme.  At  all  events,  he  resolved  to  call  upon  her ; 
how  far  he  should  take  her  into  his  confidence,  circumstances  must  decide. 

Lizzie  gazed  a little  curiously  at  her  visitor,  as  she  motioned  him  to  a seat, — 
a neatty-dressed,  gentlemanly-looking  man,  hair  somewhat  shot  with  gray,  and 
wearing  gold-rimmed  spectacles. 

“ Mrs.  Paynter  will,  I trust,  excuse  the  liberty  I have  taken,  but  I have  come  to 
solicit  her  influence  in  a scheme  that  I have  strongly  at  heart.” 

The  major  paused  to  give  Lizzie  an  opportunity  of  reply. 

u Let  her  say  anything,”  he  thought ; “ it  will  pave  the  way,  at  all  events,  and  give 
me  some  notion  if  I am  right  in  my  ideas  about  her.” 

But  Mrs.  Paynter  only  bowed  her  head  slightly,  in  a manner  which  distinctly 
indicated  that  he  should  proceed. 


40 


Two  Kisses. 


“ I am  given  to  understand  that  Captain  Detfield  is  a friend  of  yours,”  observed 
the  major,  at  length.  “ May  I go  so  far  as  to  say,  an  intimate  friend  of  yours  ? ” 
Though  much  astonished,  Lizzie  had  lived  too  much  in  the  world  not  to  be  able  to 
repress  any  sign  of  such  astonishment.  She  replied,  quietly : — 

“ Yes,  I know  Captain  Detfield  very  well ; intimately,  if  you  like.” 

“ May  I ask  if  you  are  aware  that  his  affairs  are  extremely  involved  ? ” 

“ I have  heard  something  of  the  kind,  but  you  can  scarcely  suppose  Captain  Deb- 
field  would  make  me  his  confidante  in  matters  of  that  sort,”  retorted  Lizzie,  a little 
sharply. 

“ No,  perhaps  not.  I am  also  told  that  you  have  considerable  influence  with  Cap- 
tain Detfield.” 

“ Whoever  your  informant  may  be,  sir,  it  strikes  me  that  he  has  been  taking  most 
unwarrantable  liberties  with  my  name,”  exclaimed  Lizzie,  indignantly.  “I  know 
Captain  Detfield,  as  I know  many  other  people  in  society,  veiy  well.  But  I have 
nothing  to  do  with  Captain  Detfield’s  affairs,  and  I am  sure  he  would  be  the  first 
person  to  tell  you  so.” 

“ Captain  Detfield  is  veiy  foolish  as  regards  his  own  interests,  and  will  not  listen  to 
the  advice  of  his  friends,”  said  the  major,  slowly. 

“ Really,  I can  see  no  use  in  this  discussion.*  I have  nothing  to  say  to  Captain 
Detfield’s  private  affairs.  I have  neither  right  nor  inclination  to  interfere  in  them,” 
replied  Lizzie,  settling  herself  with  considerable  demonstration  in  her  chair. 

The  major  quietly  took  the  hint  and  rose ; he  had  not  expected  that  it  would  be  all 
^asy  sailing  at  this  first  interview. 

“I  can  only  apologize  for  this  intrusion,”  he  said.  “ You  speak,  Mrs.  Paynter,  as 
the  friends  of  a man  in  difficulties  generally  do  speak.  They  are  always  very  punc- 
tilious about  their  right  to  interfere.” 

The  blood  rushed  into  Lizzie’s  face  at  the  taunt,  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  Coquette 
she  might  be,  she  was  not  the  woman  to  turn  away  from  a friend  in  need. 

“Stop,  sir!  Are  you  aware  that  I am  neither  relation  nor  connection  of  Captain 
Detfield  ? ” 

“ Perfectly,”  returned  the  major. 

“ And  you ! May  I ask  if  you  are  a friend  of  his  ? ” 

“ The  most  practical  one  he  happens  to  have  just  now,  though  perhaps  he  would  not 
admit  it.” 

“ And  what  on  earth  is  it  you  suppose  that  I could  do  to  assist  him  ? ” 

“ You  could  give  what  he  needs  much  just  now,  — good  advice,”  replied  the  major,  as 
he  resumed  his  seat.  “ He  might  listen  to  you,  although  he  won’t  to  me.” 

“ This  is  getting  interesting,”  thought  Lizzie.  “ I don’t  think  I ever  set  up  in  this 
line  before.  Giving  good  advice  to  an  admirer  is  quite  a new  sensation.” 

“ And  what,  pray,  may  I ask  is  it  that  you  want  me  to  recommend  to  him  ? ” 

“ To  marry,’  returned  the  major,  tersely. 


On  the  Verge.  41 

" Good  gracious,  whom  ? ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  fairly  surprised  oat  of  her 
usual  sang-froid . “ Who  is  she  ? Whom  do  you  want  him  to  many  ? ” 

“ That,  madam,  I shall  have  the  honor  to  explain  to  you  a little  later,  if  you  will  allow 
me.  At  present,  I only  wish  you  to,  if  possible,  persuade  Captain  Detfield  that  the 
only  way  out  of  his  present  difficulties,  the  only  way  to  avert  the  ruin  that  so  speedily 
threatens  him,  is  to  marry  money . It  will  be  my  business  to  find  him  a bride.” 

“ I won’t  move  a step  in  the  business  till  I know  who  she  is.  I won’t  say  a word  on 
the  subject  till  I have  seen  the  lady,’’  retorted  Mrs.  Paynter,  quickly.  “I  never 
thought  of  it  before,  but  I dare  say  I could  find  a wife  for  him  easily  enough.” 

“ If  Mrs.  Paynter  will  undertake  the  mission  of  finding  a wife  for  Captain  Detfield 
with  thirty  thousand  pounds,  then  I need  trouble  myself  no  further,”  said  the  major, 
rising. 

“ No,  I don’t  know,  I don’t  altogether  say  that.  I won’t  promise  to  do  anything.” 

“ But  you  will  think  over  what  I have  said,  Mrs.  Paynter.  Bemember,  I only  wish 
to  pull  Detfield  through  his  difficulties,  and  I see  nothing  for  him  but  to  marry  money , 
and  that  right  soon.  If  you  can  manage  this  for  him,  well  and  good.  If  not,  would 
it  be  too  much  to  ask  you  to  let  me  know  ? You  have  my  card  and  address.” 

“ I will  think  over  it,  and  you  shall  hear  from  me  when  I’ve  made  up  my  mind,” 
replied  Lizzie. 

“ I have  the  honor,  then,  to  wish  you  good-morning,  and  success  in  your  charitable 
endeavors,”  replied  the  latter,  as,  with  a low  reverence,  he  left  the  room. 

“Well,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter,  throwing  herself  back  in  a chair,  “ this  really  is  quite  a new 
experience.  The  idea  of  looking  out  a wife  for  one  of  one’s  own  peculiar  properties. 
If  anybody  but  that  cool,  clever,  audacious  gentleman,  who  has  just  left,  had  proposed 
such  a thing  to  me,  I don’t  think  he  would  have  forgot  it  in  a hurry.  I wonder 
how  he  came  to  know  about  my  intimacy  with  Charlie.  Not  that  there’s  anything  I 
need  fret  about  in  that,  but  he  evidently  doe3  know  Charlie  is  a favored  adorer.  Now, 
as  he  is  not  in  the  least  in  my  set,  how  did  he  come  by  that  knowledge  ? I feel  just  a 
little  afraid  of  a man  who  possesses  so  much  information  about  one.  Who  is  he,  — this 
Major  Claxby  Jenkens  ? I must  ask  Charlie  that,  and  I wonder  what  he  will  say  when 
I do.” 


CHAPTEB  VTEl. 

ON  THE  VERGE. 

Montague  Gore  has  paid  more  than  one  visit  to  Hanover  street  since  he  encoun 
tered  Cissy  Hemsworth  at  the  “ Gayety.”  A cool,  shrewd  hamster,  and  generally 
immersed  in  business,  he  is  little  given  to  sentiment,  and  "yet  be  begins  to  find  a 
strange  fascination  in  Cissy’s  society.  She  is  always  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him. 
She  makes  no  secret,  that  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Paynter’s  kindness,  — and  she  admits  that  it 


42 


Two  Kisses. 


is  impossible  to  be  kinder  than  Lizzie  is  to  her,  — she  finds  London  a little  triste.  Much 
occupied  as  his  time  is,  he  contrives  to  spare  some  of  it  to  the  following  up  of  a sus- 
picion that  occurred  to  him  in  Paris.  He  believes  that  Cissy  Hemsworth  had  a settle- 
ment at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  although  he  has  found  no  trace  of  such  a deed. 
Still,  among  the  dead  man’s  papers  he  had  come  across  a mysterious  memorandum, 
that  if  he  had  read  it  aright  "seemed  to  hint  at  such  a thing.  In  a sort  of  pocket  diary, 
in  which  Mark  Hemsworth  had  apparently  been  accustomed  to  roughly  jot  down  his 
day’s  business  doings,  he  had  found  the  following  entry  : — 

“January  28th.  — Received  per  bill  on  Coutts,  £576,  half-yearly  payment  on  C.’s 
settlement.” 

Very  vague,  indeed,  this.  C.’s  settlement  might,  of  course,  mean  anything,  but 
coupled  with  the  term  half-yearly  payment,  Gore  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
did  refer  to  a settlement  made  on  Mrs.  Hemsworth  at  her  marriage.  Still,  if  so,  where 
was  the  property  ? Who  were  her  trustees  ? He  could  not  find  a trace  of  either. 
Carefully  and  patiently  as  he  had  unravelled  the  tangled  skein  of  Mark  Hemswortli’s 
affairs,  he  could  discover  not  another  word  that  could  possibly  refer  to  this  property. 
And  yet  it  must  be  worth  close  upon  twelve  hundred  a year,  if  it  existed. 

Had  Mark  Hemsworth  made  away  with  it?  — the  trustees  consenting  rathei  from 
ignorance,  or  in  collusion  with  him.  That  was  possible,  quite  possible ; but  still  not  to 
be  taken  for  granted  till  the  said  trustees  had  been  discovered.  Of  course,  it  was  but  too 
likely  that  Hemsworth,  so  terribly  involved  as  his  death  showed  him  to  have  been, 
should  have  laid  hands  upon  the  money  if  he  could.  But  except  through  fraud,  or 
very  great  negligence  on  the  part  of  the  trustees,  a marriage  settlement  holds  its  own 
pretty  tightly.  Gore  was  pushing  his  inquiries  in  every  direction,  but  so  far  had  met 
with  no  success. 

Of  course  he  had  gone  to  Coutts’  in  the  first  instance.  Little  difficulty  there  in 
tracing  the  bill,  but  unfortunately  that  told  nothing.  The  bill  had  been  drawn  by  a 
sporting  stockbroker,  but  for  £500,  had  been  presented  by  a gentleman,  wdio,  paying 
in  the  balance  of  £76  in  cash,  had  asked  the  favor  of  another  for  £576  to  transmit  to 
Hemsworth  et  Cie.,  Paris.  The  stockbroker  w~as  a regular  customer  of  theirs ; but 
about  the  gentleman  that  changed  the  bill  they  knew  nothing.  The  stockbroker, 
upon  being  interrogated,  refused  to  give  any  information  in  the  first  instance ; but,  at 
last  admitted  that  he  paid  it  away  to  a well-known  turfite  in  settlement  of  his  losses 
over  the  Croydon  steeple-chase.  There  all  traces  vanished,  when  the  aforesaid  specu- 
lator was  appealed  to;  he  could  recollect  nothing.  He  was  always  paying  and 
receiving  money.  Yes;  he  betted  pretty  largely,  and  a betting-book  didn’t  last  him 
long.  No,  he  didn’t  keep  his  old  betting-books,  unless  he  had  some  special  reason  foi 
doing  30.  He  hadn’t  got  that  one  now.  He  remembered  he  won  some  money  from 
Mr.  Jay,  the  stockbroker,  at  Croydon,  but  he  couldn’t  say  how  much.  He  thought 
he  was  paid  by  a check.  Well,  yes ; it  might  have  been  on  Coutts.  What  did  he  do 
With  it  ? Paid  it  away,  and  he’d  be  considerably  dashed  if  he  could  recollect  to  whom 


On  the  Verge. 


43 


Somewhat  discouraging,  this ; but  Montague  Gore  knew  as  well  aj  any  one  the 
patience  and  perseverance  imperative  to  the  solving  of  a problem  of  this  nature,  — 
how,  when  the  clue  seems  within  your  hands,  it  often  leads  to  nothing.  A man  of 
tough  material,  of  dogged,  invincible  resolution,  who  had  made  himself,  who  had 
started  in  his  profession  with  small  means,  but  great  energy  and  capacity  of  work ; 
clever,  certainly,  but  who  owed  his  success  more  to  toil  than  genius;  possessed 
specially  of  the  faculty  of  always  finding  time  to  do  what  he  wanted,  — a faculty  which 
is  the  result  principally  of  method  and  determination. 

He  was  a man  who  mixed  but  sparingly  in  society.  A terrible  catastrophe,  in  early 
life,  had  steeled  his  heart  against  the  love  of  woman.  Over  the  writing-table  in  his 
chambers  hung  the  picture  of  a fair  girl  whom  Montague  Gore,  some  dozen  years 
ago,  had  thought  to  make  his  bride.  A light  muslin  dress  and  a treacherous  fire  had 
shivered  that  dream.  A few  hours*  agony,  and  the  original  of  that  picture  had  yielded 
her  soul  to  her  Maker,  and  left  her  betrothed  with  the  life  crushed  out  of  him  to  con- 
tinue his  struggle  for  fame  and  fortune  alone.  Gore  stifled  his  sorrow  by  hard  work; 
as  the  years  rolled  by,  the  first  fierce  anguish  mellowed  down  naturally  to  tranquil 
resignation ; but  no  woman  had  seemed  fair  to  Montague  Gore  since  that  terrible  day 
when  a telegram  had  summoned  him  only  just  in  time  to  receive  his  love’s  last  sigh. 
The  hapless  victim  of  this  tragedy  had  been  Fox  Brine’s  sister. 

Now,  once  again,  he  was  beginning  to  feel  the  fascinations  of  a woman.  He  could 
not  deny  to  himself  that  Cissy  Hemsworth’s  society  had  unwonted  attraction  in  it. 
He  had  not  at  all  made  up  his  mind  what  was  to  come  of  it.  He  was  of  an  age  now 
when  men  take  a wife  with  due  consideration,  or  are,  at  all  events,  supposed  to  do  so. 
Charming  as  he  thought  Cissy,  yet  he  was  not  blind  to  one  thing,  — that  was  her  ex- 
travagance. He  knew,  of  course,  perfectly,  that  she  had  but  a few  hundreds  left,  and 
yet  Cissy  lived  as  if  she  had  no  care  for  the  future.  Her  cool  indifference  to  that 
future  staggered  him.  He  had  once  hinted  that  the  apartments  she  occupied  were 
expensive,  more  than  her  means  justified. 

“ Ah,  yes,”  replied  Cissy,  “ living  is  terribly  expensive  in  London.  My  poor  rooms 
do  cost  more  than  I can  afford ; but  what  would  you  have  ? I must  live  somewhere. 
I don’t  think  I could  get  anything  decent  for  less  than  I pay  here,  and  the  people  are 
very  civil.  I do  not  understand  the  economies.” 

And  she,  — how  did  she  regard  him-?  — he  wondered.  She  made  no  disguise  of  how 
pleased  she  was  to  see  him.  She  was  frankness  itself  on  that  point,  but  then  it  was 
qualified  by  the  admission  that  she  had  so  few  friends,  and  felt  so  utterly  lost  in  this 
big  London. 

“ Then,  you  know,”  she  would  say,  with  the  sweetest  smile,  “you  are  my  advocate, 
and  it  is  such  a comfort  to  have  some  one  to  talk  over  my  miserable  prospects  with.” 

And  yet  she  was  as  radiant  over  these  “ miserable  prospects,”  as  if  her  chance  of 
being  absolutely  penniless  in  little  more  than  a twelvemonth  was  a fact  that  had  no 

existence. 


44 


Two  Kisses. 


To  understand  Cissy  Hemsworth  it  is  necessary  to  look  back  upon  hei  former  life. 
It  had  been  instilled  into  her,  from  a child,  that  she  must  look  upon  a good  marriage 
as  her  provision  in  life.  At  sixteen  she  was  introduced  to  Mark  Hemsworth  as  her 
future  husband.  She  had  been  for  the  half-dozen  preceding  years  educated  in  a con- 
vent in  France,  so  that  there  was  nothing  repugnant  to  her  in  the  idea.  Her  school- 
fellows were  all  brought  up  with  similar  notions.  When  her  father  announced  to 
Cissy  that  her  marriage  was  arranged,  she  accepted  it  as  a matter  of  course.  She 
felt  nothing  more  than  a little  natural  curiosity  to  see  her  fianc6.  If  she  was  not 
violently  struck  with  his  appearance,  she  certainly  felt  no  distaste  for  the  marriage. 
She  supposed  all  girls  were  married  in  this  wise.  She  had  never  heard  it  said  that 
marriages  were  made  in  heaven,  or  of  love  and  esteem  being  supposed  to  enter  into 
their  composition. 

So  she  was  wedded,  and  found  herself  at  the  head  of  a fine  house  in  Paris.  She 
had  nothing  to  say  to  it ; her  husband  managed  everything.  From  the  day  he  took 
her,  a child-wife,  from  the  altar,  to  the  day  of  his  death,  he  had  treated  her  as  a child. 
He  alternately  petted  or  scolded  her,  just  as  his  capricious  temper  might  dictate; 
treating  her  at  times,  indeed,  almost  brutally,  when  the  battle  on  the  Bourse  had  gone 
hard  with  him.  But  she  had  carnages,  servants,  and  every  description  of  luxury  at 
her  command.  On  one  point  Mark  Hemsworth  was  consistent ; however  ill  it  might 
fare  with  him  in  the  financial  fray,  he  never  stayed  his  lavish  expenditure.  Cissy 
had  never  heard  the  word  economy  even  whispered*  Her  husband  was  ahvays  very 
authoritative  concerning  her  dress.  She  might  spend  what  she  pleased,  apparently, 
but  it  was  high  misdemeanor  that  he  should  see  the  same  robe  too  often,  or  find  that 
his  wife’s  was  not  one  of  the  notable  toilettes  at  a fashionable  assembly.  So  far  as 
this  last  went,  Mark  Hemsworth  had  little  reason  to  complain.  Nature  had  endowed 
Cissy  with  great  taste,  and  a superb  figure.  When  to  such  gifts  is  added  carte 
blanche  at  a Parisian  modiste’s,  a woman  is  not  likely  to  be  worsted  by  her  compeers. 
Madame  Hemsworth  had  established  a reputation  in  this  respect,  and  was  wont  to  see 
her  toilet  quoted  in  the  journals.  Our  own  papers  after  Ascot  and  Goodwood  gen- 
erally rave  more  or  less  of  millinery,  and  no  wonder. 

One  can  easily  imagine,  with  such  training  as  this,  that  Cissy  Hemsworth  had  no 
more  conception  of  how  to  commence  living  economically  than  a child.  She  thought 
she  was  economizing.  She  was  living  in  lodgings  instead  of  a house  of  her  own. 
She  had  no  servants  but  her  oWn  maid.  She  had  no  carriage,  and,  as  she  said,  naver 
sent  for  a brougham  except  it  was  an  absolute  necessity.  Cissy  really  did  not  see 
how  her  expenses  were  to  be  much  further  curtailed.  Dress,  — well  she  had  spent 
nothing  on  that,  she  insisted.  The  elaborate  mourning  outfit  she  had  ordered  in  Paris 
had  so  far  been  sufficient.  She  was  gratified  by  discovering  that  her  mode  was,  at  all 
events,  scarcely  to  be  met  with  in  London,  as  yet ; but,  as  she  said  to  Mrs.  Paynter, 
u It  will  be  terrible  next  spring,  when  I go  into  half  mourning,  — I shall  want  such  a 
*©t  of  things,” 


On  the  Verge. 


45 


Cissy  had  borne  neither  love  nor  esteem  for  her  husband.  lit  had  never  sought  to 
inspire  the  first,  and,  far  from  taking  pains  to  gain  the  latter,  had  alienated  it  by  harsh, 
coarse,  capricious,  brutal  treatment.  Mark  Hemsworth  was  by  no  means  a faithful 
consort,  and  had  taken  little  trouble  to  hide  his  infidelities  from  his  wife.  Cissy  had 
jegarded  him  with  some  aversion  and  some  awe.  Still,  though  she  feared  him,  she 
had  upon  occasion  shown  a spirit  which  had,  at  all  events,  compelled  Mark  Hemsworth 
to  acknowledge  that  there  was  a limit  to  what  insult  his  wife  would  submit  to. 

It  is  easy  to  conceive  what  such  training  had  made  of  Cissy  Hemsworth.  She  had 
grown  up  a woman  accustomed  to  adulation,  to  unlimited  luxury,  to  unstinted  means. 
Now  she  was  called  upon  to  confront  the  world,  and  to  get  her  living  as  best  she  could. 
Such  was  the  view  of  her  position  as  it  would  naturally  appear  to  any  one  conversant 
of  the  circumstances.  The  only  person  it  did  not  seem  to  strike  was  Cissy  herself. 
True,  it  might  be  said  in  her  favor  that  she  had  conducted  herself  very  well  under 
considerable  provocation;  that,  with  great  temptation,  no  one  could  breathe  an 
aspersion  on  her  fair  fame ; that,  as  a neglected  and  ill-used  wife,  she  had  been  ever 
loyal  to  her  husband.  Yet  this  was  hardly  the  woman  a prudent  man  would  select  for 
his  bride ; and  still  a shrewd,  hard-headed  man  of  the  world,  like  Montague  Goref 
was,  at  this  moment,  debating  this  question  with  himself. 

He  saw  it  all,  too,  so  clearly.  He  knew  she  was  unfitted  for  his  wife.  He  could 
not  even  flatter  himself  that  he  had  gained  her  love.  He  was  too  quick  not  to  under 
stand  that  her  very  frankness  with  him  was  an  unfavorable  sign.  He  knew  well  that 
when  a woman’s  heart  is  touched  there  is  a certain  reticence,  a slight  embarrassment 
of  manner,  at  Limes  even  an  inclination  to  be  almost  brusque  and  rude  to  the  man  she 
favors,  but  has  not  yet  admitted  her  passion  for.  He  felt  that  if  she  did  marry  him 
it  would  be  because  she  was  in  want  of  a home,  a protector ; and  still,  in  spite  of  all 
this,  Montague  Gore  continued  to  visit  her  constantly,  ever  turning  over  in  his  mind 
whether  he  should  ask  her  to  be  his. 

An  infatuation,  no  doubt ; but  when  men  verging  on  the  forties  fall  in  love  they 
usually  do  so  with  much  earnestness  of  purpose.  Montague  Gore  had  never  thought 
to  love  again.  We  do  make  such  mistakes,  and  feel  somewhat  puzzled  when  the 
celibacy  we  have  mapped  out  for  ourselves  seems  liable  to  depend  once  more  upon  a 
woman’s  yes  or  no. 

Montague  Gore,  as  he  walks  down  to  Hanover  street,  is  still  revolving  in  his  mind 
this  question  that  has  so  much  disturbed  him  the  last  two  or  three  weeks.  Cissy’s  face 
has  got  mixed  up  with  his  business  in  strange  fashion  of  late.  Her  lustrous  eyes  and 
dusky  tresses  seem  to  flit  across  his  briefs  in  a way  most  unfavorable  to  a clear  com- 
prehension of  their  contents.  He  feels  it  imperative  to  see  her  on  business,  although 
it  would  scarcely  occur  to  him  that  it  was  necessary  to  see  any  other  client  under  the 
same  circumstances.  He  has  nothing  to  impart ; but  it  has  suddenly  occurred  to  him 
that  it  would  be  advisable  to  learn  something  of  Cissy’s  childhood  if  possible.  So  he 
strides  along,  through  the  thick  November  fog,  until  he  arrives  in  Hanover  street. 


V 


46  Two  Kisses * 

“ Ye3,  Mrs.  Hemsworth  is  at  home,  and  will  see  him.” 

Gore  ascends  to  the  pretty  sitting-room  that  he  knows  so  well,  and  is  greeted  with 
great  cordiality. 

“ So  very  kind  of  you  to  come  arid  see  me  such  wTretched  weather,”  observed  Cissy, 
as  she  seated  herself  comfortably  in  an  arm-chair.  “ I shall  never  have  courage  to  go 
out  such  a miserable  day.  You  know  you  are  always  welcome,  but  with  your  usual 
tact  you  have  timed  your  visit  so  as  to  ensure  both  thanks  and  gratitude  to  boot. 
Now  you  shall  tell  me  your  news ; you’ve  none,  I fear,  favorable  to  my  own  imme 
diate  interests.” 

“ Nothing,  I regret  to  say,”  replied  the  banister.  “ Do  you  know,  I’ve  come  down 
to  ask  questions  ? ” 

“What  about  ? ” returned  Cissy,  laughing;  “ but  remember,  Mr.  Gore,  it  must  be 
question  for  question.  I can’t  guess  what  you  want  to  know,  but  I also  have  panga 
of  curiosity  at  times.” 

“Well,  I think,  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  — it  struck  me  in  short,,  the  other  night,  that  it 
might  facilitate  the  inquiry  I am  making  upon  your  behalf,  if  you  would  not  mind 
telling  me  as  much  as  you  can  remember  of  your  early  life.  Your  life,  I mean, 
previous  to  your  entering  that  convent.” 

Cissy’s  face  fell,  and  for  some  seconds  she  made  no  reply.  At  last  she  said, 
slowly : — 

“ I hope  it  will  not  stand  in  the  way  of  such  prospects  as  I may  have ; but,  Mr. 
Gore,  I do  not  think  I can  tell  you  that.” 

The  barrister  started ; he  had  no  anticipation  of  such  an  answer.  It  was  not  that  he 
expected  to  gain  much  from  hearing  the  history  of  Mrs.  Hemsworth’s  childhood,  but 
still  it  might  afford  a hint  of  some  new  direction  in  which  to  prosecute  his  search. 
What  objection  could  she  have  to  reveal  it  ? The  first  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  her 
rife,  surely  there  could  be  nothing  to  conceal  about. 

“ I don’t  say  that  it  will ; but  you  will  also,  very  probably,  decline  to  tell  me 
anything  about  your  parents,  — that  may  hamper  me  considerably,”  he  observed  at 
length. 

“ I have  no  recollection  at  all  of  my  mother.  She  died  when  I was  quite  a shild,” 
replied  Cissy. 

“But  your  lather;  surely  I understood  you  that  it  was  he  who  arranged  your 
marriage,  and  gave  you  away,”  exclaimed  Gore,  in  much  bewilderment. 

“ Yes,”  rejoined  Cissy,  quietly. 

“And  of  him  ? ” 

“ I will  tell  you  nothing,”  interrupted  the  widow.  “ I cannot ; I don’t  wish  to  make 
any  mysteries  of  my  early  years.  I am  sure  I cannot  see  anything  to  make  a mystery 
about ; but  I have  promised  to  keep  my  lips  sealed  concerning  them,  and  I intend  to 
Keep  my  word.” 

Montague  Gore  felt  uneasy,  disconcerted.  What  reason  could  Cissy’s  father  have 


In  the  Temple. 


47 


for  keeping-  so  entirely  in  the  background.  He  was  already  aware  that  he  should 
commit  a great  imprudence  if  he  married  Mrs.  Hemsworth.  What  she  now  told  him 
was  certainly  not  calculated  to  remove  his  misgivings ; and  yet  so  completely  was  he 
fascinated  with  her,  that  it  was  odds,  had  Cissy  given  him  any  encouragement,  that 
he  would  have  asked  her  to  be  his  bride  in  the  course  of  this  interview.  But  she  did 
not.  . She  was  simply  frank  and  cordial;  and,  after  some  further  desultory  con- 
versation, Gore  took  his  departure,  the  momentous  words  still  unspoken. 

CHAPTER  IX 

IN  THE  TEMPLE. 

Mb.  Fox  Brine  pursued  his  arduous  literary  career  in  very  comfortable  chambers 
in  the  Temple.  It  was  there  he  sketched  out  these  thrilling  romances,  sparkling 
comedies,  tremendous  dramas  and  smashing  articles  which  never  received  embodi- 
ment. The  nether  regions  are  reputed  paved  with  good  intentions;  Mr.  Brine’s 
chambers  were  carpeted  with  undeveloped  ideas.  The  very  walls  and  book-shelves 
bore  witness  to  the  multiplicity  of  his  conceptions.  Here  hung  a chart  of  the  Mull 
of  Cant  ire,  which  he  had  procured  with  some  difficulty  when  he  had  thought  of  that 
great  drama  on  the  Irish  Rebellion.  At  the  time  that  he  was  overwhelming  kis 
friends  with  that  idea,  it  had  been  mildly  suggested  to  him  that  the  French  did  not 
disembark  in  that  vicinity.  To  which  Mr.  Brine  had  loftily  replied  that  art  could  not 
be  trammelled  by  history,  and  that,  if  Hoche  did  not  know  where  he  should  have 
landed  in  a dramatic  point  of  view,  he  (Fox  Brine)  did,  and  intended  to  correct 
such  mistake.  There  hung  an  ordnance  map  of  the  county  of  Devonshire.  Mr. 
Brine  had  once  conceived  an  elaborate  notion  of  a novel  connected  with  that  county, 
and  commenced  collecting  materials  accordingly.  With  similar  view  of  writing 
articles  on  the  French  dramatists,  he  had  got  together  a pretty  extensive  library  of 
their  works.  Biographical  dictionaries,  dictionaries  of  dates,  classical  dictionaries, 
dictionaries  of  all  kinds  were  strewn  about  the  room ; for  with  so  undetermined  a 
bent  of  genius,  Mr.  Brine  argued  he  never  could  be  certain  what  books  of  reference 
he  might  require. 

The  nattiest  of  writing-tables  stood  in  one  of  the  windows,  furnished  with  material 
of  every  description ; foolscap,  journalist  slips,  note-books,  cahiers,  pens,  and  pencils 
of  all  sorts ; for  Mr.  Brine  was  quite  as  much  impressed  at  this  minute,  as  he  had  been 
on  leaving  the  University,  that  he  was  just  about  to  begin.  He  still  sprang  from  his 
bed,  lit  a candle,  and  rushing  to  the  writing-table,  dashed  off  some  crude  idea  for 
play  or  story  as  he  was  wont  to  do  some  seven  years  ago,  with  equal  belief  that  it 
would  develop  into  something  that  should  make  the  town  ring  again.  Continual 

4 


48 


Two  Kisses. 


failure  is  apt  to  discourage  a man ; but  Fox  Brine  had  never  encountered  that,  for  the 
best  of  all  possible  reasons,  — that  he  had  never  yet  solicited  the  suffrages  of  the  public. 
That  his  ideas  always  ended  in  dreams,  never  seemed  to  dispirit  this  philosopher  in 
the  least.  He  felt  quite  as  confident  of  success,  whenever  he  could  find  time,  as  ever. 
What  stood  in  the  way  of  his  finding  that  precious  necessity  he  did  not  condescend 
to  explain,  but  his  intimates  were  not  sanguine  of  success  ever  attending  his  search 
for  that  requisite  leisure. 

Mr.  Fox  Brine,  clad  in  smoking-jacket  and  slippers,  and  stretched  at  full  length  on 
his  sofa,  is  tranquillizing  his  jaded  mind  with  a cigarette  and  a French  novel,  when 
some  one  knocks  sharply  at  his  door. 

“ Come  in,”  cries  the  literary  theorist,  raising  his  head  slightly ; and,  obedient  to  the 
command,  Charlie  Detfield  enters  the  apartment. 

“ Hard  at  work,  Fox,  as  usual,  I see,”  observed  Charlie,  grinning,  and  throwing 
his  hat  and  gloves  carelessly  on  the  table. 

It  is  a little  joke  amongst  Brine’s  friends  always  to  affect  a belief  that  he  is  over- 
whelmed with  work. 

“ Halloa,  Charlie ! ” returned  that  gentleman,  making  a supreme  effort,  and  thereby 
attaining  a sitting  position.  “ You  find  me  ‘j oaresseux  comme  un  vrai  artiste .’  What 
brings  you  to  the  East  so  early  ? It  looks  bad,  young  man,  when  Her  Majesty’s 
guardsmen  are  doing  business  in  the  city  at  these,  for  them,  abnormal  hours.  There 
is  a suspicion  of  looking  after  money  in  unwholesome  localities  about  it.” 

“ I don’t  know  that  I should  quarrel  much  about  the  locality,  Fox ; if  I could  but 
discover  a Tom  Tiddler’s  ground,  I’d  not  be  very  particular  as  to  the  where,”  replied 
Detfield,  as  he  threw  himself  wearily  back  in  a chair. 

They  were  old  college  friends  these  two,  and  had  been  sworn  allies  ever  since. 
Though  running  in  very  different  grooves,  yet  both  were  essentially  London  men, 
and  consequently  they  often  met.  The  guardsman  was  always  delighted  if  he  could 
induce  Brine  to  join  his  dinner  on  the  Bank  guard,  and  knew  that  his  friend  was 
equally  pleased  whenever  he  invaded  his  rooms  in  the  Tc  mple. 

“ Financial  tightness,  eh,  Charlie  ? ” replied  Brine,  lazdy.  “ I tell  you  what  it  is,  — 
it’s  all  nonsense  to  talk  of  the  unpleasantness,  but  really  there’s  nothing  like  suffering 
the  pomp  of  respectable  poverty.  Now  I put  it  to  you.  It  has  happened  to  me  in  the 
month  of  August  to  have  predilections  in  favor  of  dining  at  Itichmond,  or  down  the 
river,  when  the  state  of  the  exchequer  has  compelled  me  to  devour  a chop  at  the 
i Cheshire  Cheese  ’ instead.  I really  doubt  whether  I did  not  suffer  as  much,  men- 
tally, as  disreputable  poverty  which  didn’t  dine  at  all.” 

“ Yes,  old  fellow,  but  you  had  somewhat  the  pull  of  them  physically,  you  know,” 
rejoined  Detfield,  helping  himself  to  a cigar  from  a box  on  the  table. 

“ Physical  suffering  dulls  mental,”  responded  Fox,  dogmatically. 

“ And,  therefore,  if  you  had  only  abstained  from  gratifying  your  unholy  appetite- 
sept,  in  short,  the  fast  which  your  circumstances  demanded  — you  wouldn’t  have  had 


In  the  Temple. 


49 


your  mind  harassed  and  perturbed  by  visions  of  Richmond  park  and  the  silvery 
Thames.  But  I want  to  talk  to  you,  Fox.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Mr.  Brine,  languidly,  “ talk.  If  you’re  going  to  rave  about  fem- 
inine attractions,  don’t  be  offended  if  I doze.  If  you’re  in  a scrape,  with  a woman  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  don’t  ask  my  advice,  because  I know  by  experience  a man  always 
goes  his  own  way  under  such  circumstances ; if  it’s  a financial  scrape,  my  sympathy 
and  name  are  at  your  service.  ‘ I give  you  all ; I can  no  more.’  As  regards  more 
substantial  help,  imagine  me,  as  our  transatlantic  friends  say,  1 * * 4 cornered.’  I presume 
you  can’t  have  come  to  grief  except  through  love  or  paper.” 

“ Never  mind  my  love  affairs ; they’re  not  likely  to  hurt  me.” 

“ I have  heard  that  you  were  carrying  on  with  Mrs.  Paynter  more  than  our  grand- 
mothers would  approve,”  observed  Brine,  meditatively. 

“ Don’t  be  a fool,  Fox,”  retorted  Charlie,  laughing.  “Do  you  want  to  know  the 
worst  ? I admire  Mrs.  Paynter,  — I like  her  better  than  any  other  woman  in  London, 
and,  just  at  present,  she  condescends  to  approve  of  me ; but,  old  fellow,  she’s  not 
likely  to  lose  her  head,  supposing  even  that  I did ; no  harm,  believe  me,  will  come  of 
that  flirtation.” 

“ God  bless  me ! how  can  you  go  on  with  it,  then  ? ” exclaimed  Brine.  “ It  must  be 
80  very  insipid.  Flirtation  I always  understood  to  be 

“ ‘ A chase  of  idle  hopes  and  fears, 

Begun  in  folly,  closed  in  tears.* 

I never  go  in  for  it  myself,  and  I’m  glad  now  I don’t.  I always  looked  upon  it  like 
playing  with  fire ; that  there  was  all  the  excitement  of  a possible  conflagration  — ” 

“ Do  hold  your  tongue,  Fox ! I want  to  ask  you  a question.  Do  you  know  any 
thing  about  Major  Claxby  J enkens  ? ” 

“Well,  I might  say  no  further  than  that  I do  know  him  by  sight;  but  I’m  not 
quite  clear,  if  I thought  it  all  out,  that  I couldn’t  tell  you  something  about  him.” 

“ Then  think  it  all  out,  because  he’s  becoming  rather  a prominent  fact  in  my  some- 
what disordered  affairs,  just  now,  and  I should  like  to  know  what  I can  about  him.  Is 
he  a money-lender  ? in  the  first  place ; has  he  a daughter  ? in  the  second ; and,  thirdly, 
who  the  devil  is  Claxby  Jenkens  ? ” 

“No,  I don’t  quite  think  he’s  a money-lender,  Charlie,”  replied  Brine,  as  he  threw 
his  cigarette  into  the  grate;  “and  as  to  who  Claxby  Jenkens  is,  I fancy  none  but 
Claxby  Jenkens  can  inform  you.  As  for  daughters,  he  may  have  a dozen,  for  all  I 
know.  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ? ” 

“Well,”  said  Detfield,  “ if  not  of  the  tribes,  he’s  in  alliance  with  them.  I happened 
to  see  him  on  business  the  other  day,  and  he  not  only  proposed  matrimony  as  a cure 
for  my  liabilities,  but  offered  to  find  the  lady.” 

“ The  devil  he  did ! ” exclaimed  Fox  Brine,  starting  up  with  considerable  animation. 

4 This  becomes  interesting.  By  Jove ! there’s  a drama  to  be  got  out  of  this.  Ac*  Mie 


50 


Two  Kisses. 


First.  — On  the  road  to  ruin.  Act  the  Second.  — Ruined,  despair,  suicidal  thoagH*. 
Act  the  Third.  — Salvation,  and  marriage  with  Rebecca,  daughter  of  Isaac.  Think  of 
the  tableaux,  my  boy,”  he  continued,  enthusiastically.  “ Epsom  Downs  for  the  fall 
of  the  drop  in  Act  I.  Waterloo  Bridge  by  moonlight,  for  Act  II. ; of  course  you’re 
eared  by  the  policeman;  no,  perhaps  you  had  better  go  over  the  parapet,  and  be 
rescued  by  the  jolly  young  waterman  and  Rebecca,  who  happens  to  be  taking  her 
pleasure  on  the  river  just  then ; water  scene  that  would  beat  the  ‘ Colleen  Bawn  * 
hollow.  Act  III.,  Tableau  — A Jewish  wedding,  with  Moorish  ballet;  quite  per- 
missible, if  not  quite  correct.  Art,  sir,  cannot  be  fettered  by  accuracy  of  detail.  All 
right,  Charlie,  my  boy ; we’ll  get  a drama  out  of  it  any  way,  and  pay  all  our  debts. 
I’ve  got  two  or  three  veteran  creditors  we  shall  probably  kill.  They  dun  me  when- 
ever their  livers  are  out  of  order  and  the  gout  threatens  them.  I’m  a sort  of  open  sore 
that  carries  off  their  noxious  humors.  When  they’ve  nobody  to  bully  they’ll  probably 
cease  to  exist.” 

“ Well,  now,  Fox,  if  you  have  done  raving,”  observed  Detfield,  who  could  not  help 
laughing  at  seeing  his  friend  so  fairly  off  on  that  visionary  hobby,  that  he  had  never 
ceased  riding  since  he  had  commenced  keeping  his  terms  for  the  bar;  “I  shoull 
like  — ” 

“Raving,  and  you’d  like  — ” interrupted  Brine,  with  mock  solemnity;  “what 
would  you  like,  sir  ? What  more  would  you  have  ? You  come  to  me,  a votary  of 
art,  with  your  petty,  worldly  grievances,  and  I reduce  them,  by  the  inspiration  of  mj 
genius,  to  a dramatic  poem,  — a conception  calculated  to  make  not  only  you  but  ah 
London  weep  at  the  story  of  your  woes.  Great  heavens ! when  I propose  to  harrow 
the  whole  metropolis  with  the  histoiy  of  your  wrongs,  what  more  would  you  have, 
ingrate  ? I have  done.  Now,  you  soulless  being,  what’s  the  row  ? ” 

“ That  which  yourself  has  raised  chiefly,”  replied  Charlie.  “ I only  want  a quiet 
talk,  and  I should  like  — ” 

“ To  have  it  all  to  yourself,”  interrupted  Brine.  “ No,  I’ll  not  submit  to  the 
monologue.  Do  you  think  I also  have  not  ideas,  and  that  it  does  not  occur  to  me  to 
express  them  ? ” 

“ No,  by  Jove,  I don’t,  nor  any  one  else  that  knows  you ! But  still  I should  like  — ” 

“ Of  course  you  would,”  again  interposed  Brine.  “ Why  on  earth  can’t  you  say 
what  you  would  like  at  once,  instead  of  beating  about  the  bush  in  this  manner  ? ” 

“ Something  to  drink,”  replied  Charlie,  grinning.  He  knew  Fox  Brine  thoroughly, 
and  was  not  to  be  extinguished  by  his  badinage. 

“ And  why  couldn’t  you  say  so  before  ? There  never  is  any  bringing  you  military 
men  to  the  point,”  rejoined  Brine,  with  the  utmost  gravity. 

“ Well,  I don’t  think  if  you  put  that  point  to  my  company,  Fox,  you’ll  have  much 
cause  of  complaint.  Meanwhile,  give  me  some  claret  and  soda,  and  I’ll  tell  you  soma 
news  for  it.” 

“ What’s  that  ? ” inquired  Brine,  as  he  produced  the  required  bererage. 

“I  think  Montague  Gore  is  in  a fair  way  to  get  married.” 


51 


In  the  Temple. 

41  Montague  Gore  married!  Pooh,  my  dear  Charlie!  What  put  that  into  your 
head  ? Don’t  you  know  the  story  of  my  poor  sister  ? ” 

44  Yes,  I have  heard  the  history  of  that  tragedy  of  his  early  days,”  replied  Detfield ; 
44  but  you  must  remember  that  was  a good  while  ago.  He  is  pretty  hard  hit  now,  I 
fancy ; and  so  think  better  judges  than  I.” 

“The  better  judges  in  this  case  being  Mrs.  Paynter,”  observed  Brine,  without  ever 
glancing  at  his  companion.  44  Well,  it’s  a thing  I’d  sooner  have  a woman’s  opinion  on 
than  a man’s,  if  you’re  quite  sure  that  you  have  really  got  it.  But  ladies  sometimes 
predict  what  they  wish  on  this  point.  You  see  I’ve  known  Gore  all  my  life,  and, 
although  he  is  a dozen  years  my  senior,  intimately.  He  was  always  kind  to  me  when 
I was  a little  beggar.  We  came  from  the  same  neighborhood,  and  are  in  a way  con- 
nected. Now,  who’s  the  lady  ? ” 

44 A Mrs.  Hemsworth,  a widow;  and  further  than  that  her  late  husband  wras  in 
business  of  some  kind  at  Paris.  I can  tell  you  nothing ; stay,  yes,  I can : the  widow  is 
a deuced  good-looking,  attractive,  lady -like  woman.” 

41  That’s  all  you  know,  eh  ? ” inquired  Brine. 

44  All ! ” replied  Detfield,  tersely. 

44  Very  good ; now  we’ll  discuss  your  own  marriage.” 

44 1 say,  hold  on ; what  are  you  talking  about  ? ” cried  Charlie,  hurriedly. 

44  This  little  prescription  that  Doctor  Jenkens  has  prescribed  for  you.  He  is  a 
clever  man  that.  I really  don’t  see,  my  dear  Charlie,  if  you’re  in  the  difficulties  I 
deem,  what  you  could  do  better.  There’s  only  one  thing  puzzles  me,  — what  the  deuce 
makes  him  take  such  a fatherly  interest  in  you  ? I shouldn’t  have  supposed,  from 
what  I have  heard  of  him,  that  there  was  much  of  the  philanthropist  about  the  major.” 
44  But  you  don’t  suppose,  Fox,  I’m  going  to  undertake  to  marry  a woman  in  that 
sort  of  way  ; a girl  whom  I’ve  never  seen  ? ” 

44  Well,  why  the  deuce  don’t  you  see  her  ? She  may  be  a vision  of  light,  an  em- 
bodiment of  grace  and  beauty,  a perfect  houri,  for  all  you  can  tell.” 

44  But  I tell  you  1 don’t  want  to  marry.” 

44  My  dear  Charlie,  it’s  no  use  at  your  time  of  life  talking  about  what  you  don’t 
want  to  do ; we’re  all  the  victims  of  circumstances.  The  world,  in  the  shape  of  your 
creditors,  requires  you  to  sacrifice  yourself  on  what  is  usually  termed  the  hymeneal 
altar.  Don’t  be  indecorous ; you’ve  had  your  fling.  It’s  quite  time  you  were  settled.” 
44  How  nice  you  talk ! ” said  Detfield,  laughing  in  spite  of  himself.  44 1 wonder  how 
you’d  like  it  ? ” 

44 1 might  not  like  it,  sir,”  replied  Fox,  with  the  utmost  gravity ; 44  but  if  it  was 
imparted  to  me  that  a bride  and  riches  were  awaiting  my  acceptance,  I should 
certainly  display  resignation,  and  think  it  my  duty  to  society  to  throw  no  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  what  society  would,  no  doubt,  deem  so  desirable.” 

44  Very  well,  old  fellow,  I shall  be  delighted  to  resign  in  your  favor.  In  the  mean 
time,  remember  I wrant  to  know  what  you  can  make  out  about  Claxby  Jenkens. 
New  I must  be  going.” 


52 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Yes ; but,  Charlie,  you’re  not  in  a condition  to  resign.  Resignation  in  youi  casa 
means  not  going  to  the  country,  but  going  to  that  most  unappeasable  constituency, 
your  creditors.  Bribery  is  the  only  thing  that  will  content  them.  Bribery  is  a 
question  of  money ; so  go,  my  friend,  bow  to  your  destiny,  and  marry.” 

“No,  Fox,  I’ll  leave  that  to  you,”  said  Charlie,  gayly,  as  he  took  up  his  hat,  “ and 
in  the  mean  time  — ” 

“ You’ll  probabty  make  a further  mess  of  it,”  observed  Brine,  quietly. 

“ Play  the  devil  with  the  third  act,  in  short ; perhaps  so ; we  shall  see ; ” and  vith  i 
careless  nod  Detfield  took  his  departure. 

“ It’s  a rum  thing ; but  then  rum  things  are  always  coming  about,”  mused  Mr 
Brine.  “ Old  Jenkens  interesting  himself  in  Charlie  Detfield  is  what  may  be  denomi- 
nated an  uncommonly  rum  thing.  But  as  for  drama,  Charlie’s  not  going  to  spoil  that. 
I’m  not  going  to  be  confined  to  facts,  and  I’ll  marry  him  on  paper,  in  the  third  act, 
whatever  he  may  think  fit  to  do  in  reality.” 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  MISSES  BT ANBURY. 

Bransbury  park,  Islington,  is  a thoroughfare  of  unmistakable  respectability. 
The  houses  all  look  well-to-do,  as  if  they  were  the  homes  of  thriving  citizens,  with 
comfortable  balances  at  their  bankers.  Plenty  of  plate-glass  to  be  seen  in  the  dressing- 
room  windows ; flowers  carefully  cultivated  on  the  balconies.  The  gardens  running 
up  from  the  roadway  to  the  front  door  are  all  neat,  trim,  and  natty,  bright  with 
blossom  in  the  summer-time,  and  filled  with  shrubs  in  the  winter.  Barnsbury  park 
is  evidently  addicted  to  floriculture,  and  makes  the  most  of  the  limited  ground  at  its 
command.  One  house  in  particular  there  seemed  to  pride  itself  upon  its  garden,  its 
windows,  and  a small  conservatory  that  was  built  over  its  porch.  It  the  season  it  was 
gay  past  conception  with  roses,  azaleas,  and  all  sorts  of  hot-house  plants ; the  balconies 
were  filled  with  them,  the  little  garden  was  a blaze  of  color,  and  the  aforesaid 
conservatory  thronged  with  delicate  ferns  and  other  rare  specimens.  In  the  winter- 
time the  cunning  of  the  gardener  filled  the  beds  with  dwarf  hollies  all  glittering  with 
.heir  crimson  berries,  with  glossy-loaved  Portugal  laurels,  and  other  evergreens,  so 
that  even  then  it  did  not  look  bare,  dank,  and  melancholy,  as  gardens  are  wont  to  do 
at  that  time  of  year. 

In  the  house,  as  was  well  known  to  the  neighborhood,  resided  two  maiden  ladies,  of 
the  name  of  Stanbury.  Of  the  Misses  Stanbury’s  antecedents  Bransbury  park  knew 
nothing,  and  cared  less.  They  had  taken  possession  of  Roseneath  House  some  ten  or 
twelve  years  back,  were  evidently  possessed  of  ample  means,  paid  their  bills  regularly, 
and  attended  church  with  undeviating  punctiliousness ; had  indeed  rather  a penchant 


The  Misses  Stanbury. 


53 


far  clergymen's  society,  were  thought  to  hold  themselves  somewhat  high,  and  were 
vaguely  reputed  to  be  of  good  family.  In  fact,  the  Misses  Stanbury  were  sometimes 
considered  to  give  themselves  airs  on  the  strength  of  their  presumed  aristocratic 
connections ; otherwise  they  were  two  harmless,  elderly  ladies,  with  a great  love  for 
gossip,  cards,  and  rather  full-flavored  religion. 

Of  course  they  were  not  altogether  alike ; no  two  people  ever  are  in  this  world, 
much  as  their  tastes  may  assimilate.  Miss  Matilda  was  the  less  worldly  ot  the  two; 
more  given  to  gossip  and  good  works  than  her  sister.  Miss  Clementina  had  carnal 
inclinations  with  regard  to  cards  and  light  suppers  in  a more  pronounced  degree 
than  Miss  Matilda.  But  on  two  points  there  was  not  a pin  to  choose  between  them, 
namely,  their  extreme  passion  for  flowers,  and  their  preposterous  admiration  of  their 
niece  Bessie. 

It  is  true  that  there  were  extenuating  circumstances ; but  still  the  way  these  two  old 
ladies  did  combine  to  pet  and  spoil  Bessie  Stanbury,  just  turned  of  eighteen,  was  a 
sorrowful  sight  to  see.  Bessie,  with  her  quaint,  whimsical  ways,  had  not  altogether 
succumbed  to  it  as  yet ; but  who  shall  say  how  long,  at  her  age,  it  will  be  before  she 
deteriorates  ? There  is  not  an  atom  of  selfishness  about  Bessie ; and  that  is  a consider- 
able safeguard  to  her,  under  the  circumstances.  Meanwhile,  in  her  own  airy  fashion, 
she  tyrannizes  over  her  supposed  guardians  to  their  extreme  delectation. 

A good-looking  girl  one  would  say,  regarding  her  as  she  sits  sipping  her  tea,  this 
dull  November  afternoon.  Her  close-fitting  riding-habit  shows  a neat,  trim  figure, 
and,  as  she  has  thrown  off  her  hat,  the  thick  coils  of  her  brown  hair  are  exposed  to 
view.  A bright,  quick  face,  lit  by  laughing  hazel  eyes,  straightish  brows,  nez  retrousste, 
and  a very  pretty  mouth,  — such  is  Bessie  Stanbury. 

“ Yes,  Aunt  Clem,  I did  enjoy  my  canter.  I always  do,  you  know,  but  as  I said 
before,  Barnsbury  park  is  a little  dull.” 

“ Why,  my  dear  child,  what  would  you  have  ? I'm  sure  we  are  always  going  out.” 

“ Exactly ; but  then,  you  see,  Aunt  Clem,  your  goings  out  and  my  goings  out  are 
not  quite  the  same  things.  You  know  I like  dancing  better  than  cards.  Now  Barns- 
bury park,  like  that  dreadful  dragoon  regiment,  I forget  which  it  was,  don’t  dance.” 

“ You’re  a great  deal  too  volatile,  Bessie,”  interposed  Miss  Matilda,  laughing.  “ A 
round  game  and  people  to  talk  to  was  considered  quite  dissipation  enough  for  a puss 
of  eighteen  in  my  time.” 

“But,  Aunt  Matilda,”  rejoined  Bessie,  with  mock  gravity,  “things  are  changed 
since  your  time,  and  really  in  these  days  it  is  a slur  upon  a young  woman  not  to  have 
indulged  in  a little  valsing.  I do  think  you  will  have  to  give  a ball  on  my  account.” 

“ A ball ! ” exclaimed  Mjss  Matilda. 

“ My  dear  Bessie ! ” ejaculated  Aunt  Clem. 

“ Well,  you  know,  it  needn’t  be  quite  a ball.  We’ll  call  it  a dance,  and  then  it  won't 
sound  so  tremendous.” 

“ Good  gracious ! what  would  Mr.  Holdenough  say  ? ” cried  Miss  Matilda. 

M And  Mr.  Boxby,”  chimed  in  Aunt  Clem. 


34 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Say  nothing,  but  come,  if  we  invited  them.  That’s  not  the  difficulty.  It  Is  much 

more  serious.  Where  are  we  to  find  the  young  men  ? ” 

“ I won’t  have  any  young  men  about  my  place,”  observed  Miss  Matilda,  with  a tosa 
©f  her  head. 

“ ‘ Oh  dear ! what’s  to  become  of  me, 

Oh  dear ! what  shall  I do?  * ” 

sang  Bessie,  with  eyes  brimming  over  with  laughter. 

“ You  must,  Aunt  Tilda.  I know  they  are  objectionable.  They  will  light  theii 
cigars  in  the  hall,  — horrid  things ! — as  they  go  away ; but  you  see  we  girls  can’t  get 
on  without  them  when  it  comes  to  dancing,  and  they  are  useful  in  other  ways,  you 
know.” 

“ In  what  way,  miss,  I should  like  to  be  informed  ? ” demanded  Miss  Matilda, 
austerely. 

“Well,  auntie,  I can’t  say  exactly;  but  they  get  tickets  for  things,  you  see,  and 
they  tell  us  what  is  going  on,  and  — and  — and  — in  short,  there  is  a good  deal  of  in- 
formation to  be  picked  up  from  them,”  concluded  Bessie,  with  a peal  of  laughter, 
— clear,  ringing,  musical  laughter,  that  spoke  of  youth  with  high  hope  and  trust  in 
the  world  before  it. 

“ Mr.  Iioxby  was  saying  the  other  day  that  we  ought  to  mix  more  in  society,  on 
Bessie’s  account,”  observed  Aunt  Clem,  meditatively. 

“ Never  mind  Mr.  Boxby,”  returned  that  young  lady,  gayly.  “ Don’t  trouble  your 
heads  on  Bessie’s  account,  till  Bessie  herself  begins  chattering  about  what  she  wants. 
As  you  know  by  sad  experience,  Aunt  Clem,  she  calls  out  pretty  soon  for  anything 
she  fancies.  You  needn’t  be  afraid  she’ll  leave  you  in  ignorance.  There’s  a kiss  for 
you,”  continued  Miss  Stanbury,  giving  her  aunt  a hug,  “ and  now  I must  run  away 
and  take  off  my  habit.” 

“ I dare  say  it  is  rather  dull  for  a bright  young  thing  like  her,”  said  Miss  Clementina, 
as  the  door  closed  on  Bessie.  “ Our  little  card  parties  and  so  on  can’t  be  much  fun 
for  her.” 

“ Yes,  sister,  I’ll  admit  that,”  returned  Miss  Matilda,  “ but  we  really  cannot  have  a 
ball  here.  It’s  preposterous ; not  to  be  thought  of.” 

“ I don’t  think  Bessie  quite  meant  that,”  observed  Miss  Clementina,  with  a quiet 
smile.  “ It  was  only  her  fun.” 

The  two  aunts  differed  very  much  in  this.  Miss  Matilda  never  could  see  through 
her  niece’s  badinage,  but  took  it  all  quite  seriously,  while  Miss  Clementina  did  in  great 
measure  understand  it,  and  enjoyed  it  in  her  quiet  way  immensely.  There  is  usually 
a suspicion  of  truth  in  most  badinage,  and  in  many  cases  a good  deal  more  than  that. 
Few  of  us  but  can  recall  schemes  or  ideas  mooted  in  jest,  which  after  events  showed 
the  speaker  must  have  had  very  much  at  heart. 

“ You  see,  Matilda,”  continued  Aunt  Clem,  after  a short  pause,  “ although  I don’t 
think  Bessie  the  least  in  earnest  about  a ball,  I do  think  she  would  be  very  pleased  if 


The  Misses  Stanbury . 


55 


We  gave  8 little  dance,  though  I don’t  believe  she  really  dreams  of  our  doing  such  a 
thing.” 

“ But  we  cannot  have  a lot  of  supercilious  young  men  about  here,  sneering  at  our 
quiet,  old-fashioned  arrangements,  and  the  young  men  of  these  days  are  incessantly 
turning  up  their  noses ; nothing  is  ever  good  enough  for  them,  and  their  noses  never 
come  down.  They  are  very  inferior  to  the  young  men  of  our  day,  Clem.” 

Alas ! it  always  is  so,  everything  deteriorates  as  youth  ebbs  from  us. 

“ The  cows  gave  then  a sweeter  cream, 

And  swifter  ran  the  miller’s  stream ; 

Far  larger  grapes  from  vines  were  swung ; 

For  boys  were  braver  to  all  eyes, 

And  girls  did  not  poor  youth  despise, 

In  twenty-two,  when  I was  young.” 

u I don’t  know,”  replied  Aunt  Clem,  smiling.  “ Luckily  Bessie  can’t  compare  them 
and  see  how  inferior  they  are.  Besides,  Matilda,  how  is  she  ever  going  to  get  a 
husband  if  she  doesn’t  meet  with  young  men  ? ” 

“ A child  like  her  doesn’t  want  a husband.  I do  hope,  Clementina,  you  haven’t 
been  putting  ridiculous  ideas  into  her  head.” 

“ Oh,  dear ! ” laughed  Aunt  Clem,  “ such  ideas  want  no  putting  into  a girl’s  head ; 
they’re  implanted  there  by  nature.  But  though  she  mayn’t  want  a husband  yet,  still 
she  will  some  day.  Remember  she’s  an  heiress,  and  ought  to  have  more  opportunity 
of  selection  than  our  humdrum  life  affords  her.” 

“ I don’t  consider  our  life  humdrum,  and  have  no  doubt  that  Bessie  will  find  a 
wooer  quite  soon  enough,”  retorted  Matilda,  with  much  asperity. 

u What’s  that  about,  Bessie  ? ” exclaimed  the  young  lady  in  question,  as  she  ones 
more  entered  the  room.  “ What’s  Bessie  done,  or  about  to  do  ? ” 

“ Take  a book,  and  hold  her  tongue,  I trust,”  retorted  Miss  Matilda,  tartly. 

The  girl  opened  her  eyes,  and  glanced  with  mute  inquiry  to  Miss  Clementina;  but 
that  lady  only  shook  her  head,  and  elevated  her  eyebrows  slightly. 

Bessie  paused  for  a second,  then  marched  deliberately  across  to  Miss  Matilda’s 
chair  and  knelt  beside  it. 

“ Now,  aunt,”  she  said,  gayly,  “ let’s  have  it  out  at  once.  What  have  I done  ? I’D 
not  be  in  disgrace  without  knowing  why.  What  is  it  ? ” 

Tenable  to  confront  are  these  frank,  direct  people.  To  state  in  precise  terms  the 
attending  of  all  those  who  incur  our  displeasure  would  occasion  a good  deal  of  hum- 
ming, hawing,  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  invention  on  the  part  of  most  of  us  in  the  course 
d{  twelve  months.  When  we  have  wrought  ourselves  up  to  the  pitch  of  a very  pretty 
luarrel,  it  is  dreadfully  embarrassing  to  be  called  on  to  state  our  grounds  for  it. 

Miss  Matilda  felt  nonplussed. . She  had  a vague  feeling  of  being  aggrieved,  and  * 
Jtill  more  misty  ide*  that  Bessie  was  the  culprit  _J3he  felt  a little  out  of  tempev,  andl 


5* 


Two  Kisses. 


wanted  a scapegoat,  that  was  all.  But  here  was  the  terrible  scapegoat  requesting  an 

abstract  of  the  charges  preferred  against  her.  Who  ever  heard  of  such  conduct  on 
the  part  of  a scapegoat  ? For  my  part,  I quite  feel  for  Miss  Matilda.  I don’t  see 
how  ill-humor  is  to  be  vented,  or  how  we  can  ever  quarrel  comfortably  with  our 
neighbors,  if  an  explanation  is  to  be  insisted  on  in  the  very  first  stage.  We  cannot 
humbug  ourselves  about  the  real  reason  then,  usually  entirely  different  from  that  we 
have  taught  ourselves  to  believe  some  few  weeks  later. 

“ Done,  child  ? ” said  Miss  Matilda ; “ nothing ; that  is  to  say,  more  than  I am  ac- 
customed to  on  your  part.  You’ve  talked  nonsense.” 

“ Oh,  my!  aunt;  if  that’s  all,”  laughed  Bessie,  “I  don’t  think  I can  be  in  such 
disgrace.  But  what  was  it  ? ” 

“ Well,  I can’t  have  any  dancing  here,  sauce-box,”  replied  Miss  Matilda,  melting 
rapidly,  as  her  niece  fondled  her  hand. 

“ Oh,  that’s  it,  is  it  ? ” returned  Bessie,  springing  to  her  feet.  “ Now,  Aunt  Clem, 
you  will  have  to  subdue  your  thirsting  for  a quadrille.  And,  as  for  me,  I must 
exorcise  those  ‘ Fille  de  Mme.  Angot  valses  ’ from  my  brain.  Here’s  the  head  of  the 
house  says  she’ll  have  none  of  such  frivolities.  I tell  you  what,  Aunt  Matilda,  either 
sell  or  make  fire-wood  of  the  piano.  We’ll  put  away  all  temptation  from  within  the 
gates,  and  give  the  street  organs  notice  of  legal  proceedings  if  they  come  here  with 
their  jig-a-jig  tunes.  We’re  going  to  be  good  — very  good  — good  surpassing  all 
calculation.  What  would  you  have  me  wear,  aunt,  during  that  period  of  repentance  ? ” 

“ Sit  down,  and  let’s  have  a truce  to  your  nonsense,”  replied  Miss  Matilda,  smiling, 
and  with  an  inward  conviction  that  Bessie  would  prove  too  much  for  her,  and  that 
Roseneath  House  would  entertain  dancers  after  all. 

“ Ah,  yes,  Aunt  Clem  and  1 must  commence  reformation  henceforth.  Peas  in  their 
shoes  is  the  only  fit  punishment  for  people  with  such  dreadful  ideas.” 

“ I don’t  see  why  we  shouldn’t  give  a little  dance,”  said  Miss  Clementina,  musingly. 

“ My  dear  Clementina ! ” said  Aunt  Matilda,  in  tones  of  expostulation,  a good  deal 
Jaore  mellowed  all  the  same,  than  those  in  which  she  had  met  the  first  proposal  of 
such  a thing. 

“I’m  shocked  at  you,  Aunt  Clem,”  said  Bessie.  “ I trust  the  head  of  the  house 
doesn’t  think  I’m  an  abettor  of  your  dissipated  views ; ” and  the  girl  threw  herself 
back  in  a chair,  and  indulged  in  a low,  gurgling  laugh,  irresistibly  catching. 

The  elder  ladies  gradually  took  the  infection  and  joined  in  it. 

“ It’s  the  old  story,  Clementina,”  cried  Miss  Matilda,  at  length.  " I suppose  this 
spoilt  child  must  have  her  own  way.” 

“No  dancing  on  my  account,  please,”  retorted  Bessie,  demurely.  “ Life  has,  I am 
aware,  higher  objects  than  pointing  your  toe.  Still,  if  you  insist  upon  giving  a ball, 
Aunt  Matilda,  I know  I shall  do  my  duty,  and  I can  valse  if  required.” 

“ Oh,  well,  Bessie,  if  you  really  don’t  care  about  it — ” 

“ But  I do  care  about  it,  you  dear  old  aunt,”  cried  Miss  Bessie,  springing  to  her 
feet,  and  making  a tumultuous  da9h  at  Miss  Matilda.  “ There,”  she  continued,  kissing 


Good  Counsel. 


87 


her , “that’s  settled,  we’re  to  have  a dance.  How  big,  we  don’t  know — nobody 
ever  does,  I believe,  when  they  first  contemplate  taking  up  the  carpet.” 

“ Take  up  the  carpet,  my  dear  Bessie  ? — I didn’t  intend  that.” 

“ No,  but  you  see  it  would  be  so  bad  for  the  carpet  if  it  was  left  down ; we  might 
dance  holes  in  it.  Think  of  that.  Now,  if  we  come  to  the  boards,  we  shall  only 
dance  boles  in  our  shoes.” 

“ We  had  better  do  the  thing  properly  while  we  are  about  it,”  chimed  in  Aunt  Clem. 
“ Oh,  yes,”  exclaimed  Bessie,  “ and  it  won’t  bother  you  a bit,  Aunt  Matilda.  It’s 
only  locking  yourself  up  in  your  bedroom  for  two  days,  or  having  a couple  of  after- 
noons at  the  South  Kensington  Exhibition.” 

Miss  Matilda,  her  little  fit  of  ill-temper  now  thoroughly  dissipated,  could  not  help 
laughing  at  her  niece’s  proposition,  but  rejoined : — 

“ No,  Bessie,  I think  I had  better  stop  and  help  superintend  the  arrangements.  My 
old  head  may  turn  out  useful.” 

“ Of  course  you  will  be  useful,  invaluable,”  cried  Bessie.  “ What  fun  it  will  be, 
planning  it  all ! Why,  we  shall  have  two  or  three  days’  immense  amusement  contriving 
before  this  comes  to  pass.  You,  I,  and  Aunt  Clem,  how  busy  we  will  be ! ” and  then 
the  girl  stole  her  arm  gently  round  Miss  Matilda’s  waist,  and  said  softly,  “ and  how 
good  you  both  are  to  me.” 

“ Go  away  with  you,  you  little  wheedler,”  rejoined  Miss  Stanbury,  wdth  a mock 
affectation  of  austerity.  “ I have  always  remarked  that  concession  invariably  leads 
to  further  requirements  where  you  are  concerned;  you  get  no  more  out  of  me  to- 
night, miss.  Heaven  only  knows  what  you’ll  be  wanting  next ! Coote  and  Tinney’s 
band,  or  some  similar  absurdity.  Yon  had  best  try  what  you  can  make  of  Aunt  Clem, 
now,  and  I give  her  warning,”  continued  Miss  Matilda,  raising  her  voice,  “ that  what 
she  pledges  herself  to,  she  does  upon  her  own  responsibility,  and  at  her  own  personal 
risk  and  expense.” 

“ I can’t  do  anything  more  with  her  to-night,”  cried  the  girl,  laughing  merrily. 
“ She’s  pledged  to  give  a ball,  and  that’s  enough  for  the  present.  If  she’s  mean,  Aunt 
Clem,  when  it  comes  to  details,  you  and  I will  have  to  run  our  credit  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. For  the  Roseneath  ball  must  not,  shall  not,  and  cannot  prove  a failure.” 

And  so  came  about  a ball  which  will  have  something  to  do  with  the  course  of  this 
history. 


Mrs.  Patnter  has  thought  a good  deal  over  her  interview  with  Major  Claxby 
Jenkens.  She  has  questioned  Charlie  Detfield  pretty  sharply  about  his  relations  with 
that  gallant  officer,  but  is  fain  to  confess  that  she  has  not  gathered  much  informat/on 
concerning  them. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


GOOD  COUNSEL. 


58 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Yes,”  Charlie  said,  “ of  course  he  knew  him,  — one  of  those  sort  of  fellows  every- 
body knew.  Who  was  he  r That  was  just  wThat  it  was.  Kind  of  fellow  you  never  did 
know  anything  about.  He  had  had  some  sort  of  business  transactions  with  him ; was 
talking  to  him  the  other  day  about  buying  that  horse  of  Packenham’s,  but  they 
couldn’t  deal.  Jenkens  does  a good  deal  on  commission  in  the  buying  and  selling 
way,”  remarked  Charlie. 

“ Well,  but  is  he  a friend  of  yours  ? ” inquired  Mrs.  Paynter,  pertinaciously. 

“ Certainly  not,”  replied  Detfield ; “ an  acquaintance,  nothing  more.” 

“ It’s  very  odd,”  thought  Mrs.  Paynter. 

“ It’s  very  odd,”  thought  Charlie  Detfield ; “ what  has  put  this  idea  into  her  head  ? * 
and  in  his  turn  he  inquired  “ what  she  knew  about  Major  Jenkens.” 

But  Mrs.  Paynter  had  not  as  yet  made  up  her  mind,  and  she  refused  to  tell  him 
anything ; laughed  it  off,  and  said  that  was  her  secret.  One  of  these  days,  perhaps, 
he  would  be  married,  and  then  she  would  confess  it  all  to  his  wife.  To  which  Charlie 
had  promptly  replied,  that,  though  he  had  no  intention  of  committing  matrimony 
just  then,  he’d  prefer  that  these  secrets  of  his  bachelor  days  should  be  buried  in 
oblivion ; although  what  this  particular  secret  might  be  he  did  not  pretend  to  guess. 
Still  Mrs.  Paynter,  working  out  this  problem  with  all  a woman’s  quiet,  steady  persist- 
ency, did  easily  arrive  at  the  certainty  of  what  she  had  already  suspected ; namely, 
that  Charlie  Detfield  was  in  desperate  difficulties ; in  short,  as  one  of  her  informants 
told  her,  “ had  shot  his  bolt.” 

Coquette,  yes,  she  was,  and  could  not  help  it.  The  game  of  flirtation  was  the  essence 
of  life  to  her;  but  for  all  that  she  was  not  a bad  woman.  She  was  not  of  that  kind 
who,  merciless  in  their  hour  of  triumph,  look  with  pitiless  disdain  upon  their  writhing 
victim.  Lizzie  was  wont  to  be  stricken  with  remorse  when  her  admirers  were  too 
seriously  wounded.  She  didn’t  mean  that.  Why  could  they  not  content  themselves 
with  a little  sentiment,  as  she  did,  instead  of  making  the  terrible  mistake  of  getting  so 
dreadfully  in  earnest  ? Although,  as  before  said,  she  was  too  hardened  a flirt  not  to 
somewhat  enjoy  a scene  at  the  time,  yet  she  had  her  moments  of  penitence  afterwards ; 
more  especially,  too,  was  she  always  anxious  to  pari  friends  on  these  occasions ; and, 
as  a rule,  she  succeeded. 

She  was  a very  curious  combination  of  good  and  evil,  a combination  much  more 
common  in  this  world  than  perhaps  is  usually  credited.  People  in  their  inexorable 
judgment  of  appearances  will  be  hard  of  belief  that  one  of  the  most  reckless  flirts  it 
is  possible  to  conceive  could  in  reality  be  true  and  loyal  to  her  husband.  And  yet 
they  -will  readily  admit  similar  social  problems  without  question.  When  one  of  our 
commercial  lights  has  first  flirted,  and  finally  run  away  with  other  folks’  moneys, 
there  are  never  wanting  friends  to  descant  on  his  domestic  Virtues.  Still,  as  the 
costermonger  remarked,  upon  selling  the  pineapple,  “ everything  in  this  world  goes 
by  appearances ; ” and  if  you  would  be  credited  with  virtue,  you  must,  at  all  events, 
give  no  occasion  for  scandal. 

Mrs.  Paynter,  too,  is  iust  now  extremely  interested  in  Montague  Gore’s  palpable 


Good  Counsel. 


59 


devotion  to  the  fair  widow,  and  awaits  the  denouement  with  considerable  impatience. 
**  Quite  evident,”  thinks  Lizzie,  “ that  he  will  speak  whenever  Cissy  chooses  to  mak' 
him.  Why  does  she  delay  ? It  is  true  that  they  couldn’t  be  married  for  another  six 
months.  I suppose  the  proprieties  must  be  observed,  even  when  your  late  husband 
was  an  ill-tempered,  ill-bred  brute.  But  with  her  miserable  prospects  I should  think 
it  would  be  a comfort  to  get  something  definitely  settled ; and  yet  she  goes  on  as  calmly 
confident  about  her  future  as  if  the  whole  thing  was  assured.  Poor  darling ! Why,  she 
hasn’t  even  got  a parish  to  come  down  upon ; for  she  has  no  idea  where  she  was  born, 
beyond  that  it  was  in  England.”  And  once  more  Mrs.  Paynter’s  mind  was  exercised 
as  to  whether  Cissy  was  deep,  past  all  calculation,  or  next  door  to  a fool.  “ And  yet 
she  can’t  be  the  latter,”  thought  Lizzie.  “I  never  hear  people  complain  that  she 
cannot  talk ; that  they  are  unable  to  get  on  with  her.  On  the  contrary,  wherever  1 
have  taken  her,  people  seemed  charmed  with  her  piquant,  graceful  manners.  It  is 
true,  in  consequence  of  her  mourning,  I have  not  been  able  to  do  much  for  her  in  that 
line  as  yet ; still  I know,  from  what  I have  seen,  that  society  hold  her  quick  enough.” 

But  Mrs.  Paynter’s  attention  was  destined  to  be,  for  a little  time,  thoroughly  absorbed 
in  Captain  Detfield’s  affairs.  Although  she  had  boldly  asserted  to  the  major  that,  if 
Charlie’s  extrication  from  his  difficulties  was  to  be  accomplished  by  matrimony,  she 
was  quite  as  capable  of  finding  him  a wife  as  any  one,  yet,  when  she  came  to  reflect 
upon  it,  she  was  forced  to  admit  that  she  could  not  call  to  mind  any  eligible  lady  just 
at  present.  She  could  not  make  up  her  mind  as  to  whether  she  would  ally  herself 
with  the  major  or  not.  If  she  could  but  be  certain  that  he  was  honestly  striving  to 
help  Charlie  in  the  only  feasible  manner  that  occurred  to  him,  well,  then  she  would 
exert  all  her  influence  to  induce  that  impoverished  guardsman  to  comply  with  Major 
Jenkens’  wishes.  “ Yes,”  she  said,  with  a sigh,  and  putting  on  an  aspect  of  touching 
resignation,  “ I will  sacrifice  my  own  feelings  to  save  him.  He  shall  marry  this  red- 
haired,  red-elbowed  woman,  who  has  been  discovered  for  him,  and  I trust  he  will  be 
happy  and  — more  prudent.” 

Why  Mrs.  Eaynter  should  picture  the  unknown  heiress  as  possessed  of  these  unpre- 
possessing attributes,  one  can’t  say ; but  she  derived  much  comfort  and  support  from 
having  so  imaged  her.  She  had  worked  herself  quite  up  to  the  belief  that  she  was 
about  to  make  a stupendous  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  the  man  she  loved,  and  pleased 
herself  by  picturing  up  a most  pathetic  parting  scene  with  Charlie  Detfield. 

There  was  more  imagination  than  heart  in  Lizzie’s  affaires  de  cceur  always,  but  one 
thing  she  was  in  earnest  about.  She  was  willing  to  resign  her  admirer  for  his  own 
interest;  but  she  kept  back,  even  from  herself,  as  yet,  one  important  condition, 
namely,  that  it  must  be  to  a woman  whom  she  could  not  possibly  regard  as  a rival. 
She  had  told  Major  Jenkens  that  she  would  see  this  bride  he  had  elected  for  Detfield, 
and  still  held  firmly  to  that  idea  as  a sine  qua  non  of  giving  him  her  support. 

She  had  said  that  she  would  write  to  him  when  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  but  of 
course  she  had  not  done  so,  and  had  good  grounds  for  refraining.  It  was  evident, 
from  what  she  had  gathered*  that  this  man  was  no  friend  of  Charlie’s.  What,  the®. 


60 


Two  Kisses. 


made  bim  take  such  an  interest  in  this  marriage  ? She  had  lived  too  much  in  the 
world  not  to  suppose  that  he  must  have  some  scheme  of  his  own  to  serve  in  doing  so, 
and  naturally  divined  that  this  might  not  tend  very  much  to  Captain  Detfield’s  advan- 
tage. Once  make  her  clearly  understand  that  it  really  was  for  his  benefit,  and  Lizzie 
was  just  the  woman  with  generosity  to  ignore  herself  and  not  stand  in  the  way.  She 
knew  perfectly,  that  her  influence,  at  present,  over  Charlie  was  quite  sufficient  to 
crush  such  a design  easily ; but  then,  though  she  liked  him,  it  was  in  her  own  butter- 
fly fashion,  and  her  feelings  were  by  no  means  so  deeply  involved  as  to-prevent  her 
proving  a true  friend  to  him,  should  circumstances  give  opportunity. 

A month  and  more  has  gone  by  since  the  major’s  visit,  and  Lizzie  has  almost  for- 
gotten it,  though  she  had  thought  much  over  it  for  some  days  after  it  had  occurred. 
One  morning  she  received  a note,  which  brought  back  the  affair  vividly  to  her  memory. 
Persevering  as  a mole  this  major,  and  like  that  mysterious  9 aimal,  strong,  pugnacious, 
unscrupulous,  and  given  to  underground  practices.  Lizzie  opened  her  note  and 
read : — 

u Madam,  — Not  having  had  the  honor  of  hearing  from  you,  it  is  fair  to  presume 
that  you  do  not  as  yet  see  your  way  into  supplying  Captain  Detfield  with  that  great 
desideratum  of  all  men’s  lives  — money.  I did  myself  the  honor  to  point  out  to  you, 
in  the  interview  you  were  so  good  as  to  accord  me,  that  it  was  not  only  an  essentia], 
but  a speedy  essential,  to  him.  On  the  supposition  that  you  have  no  scheme  in  hand 
for  his  relief  at  present,  would  you  undertake  to  persuade  him  to  accept  the  accom- 
panying invitation  ? It  can  do  him  no  harm ; it  may  benefit  him  considerably. 

‘ ‘ Trusting  that  you  will  abstain  from  mentioning  my  name  at  present  in  this 
matter, 

“ I have  the  honor  to  be, 

“ Your  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

“Claxby  Jenkbns. 

“ 6 Charles  street,  Berkeley  square.” 

“Well,”  mused  Mrs.  Paynter,  “ no  harm  can  come  of  his  accepting  an  invitation 
to  a — , what  is  it  ? Let  me  see,”  and  Lizzie  took  up  the  accompanying  card.  “ ‘ The 
Misses  Stanburys  at  home.  Dancing  at  nine.  Roseneath  House,  Barnsbury  park, 
Islington.’  This  is  getting  mysterious.  Who  ever  would  have  dreamed  of  seeking  an 
heiress  out  Islington  way  ? Yes ; Charlie  must  go.  Right  or  wrong,  we  must  inves- 
tigate this.  I am  getting  horribly  curious  to  have  a look  at  this  daughter  of  ingots. 
Charlie  can’t  come  to  grief  in  attending  a dance,  I think ; but,  to  make  all  things  safe, 
I’ll  attend  it  too.  I’ll  take  veiy  good  care  that  he  don’t  propose  that  night,  at  all 
events.  Impudent  thing ! — perhaps  she’ll  ask  him.  Well,  if  she  does,  I’ll  undertake 
he  says  no.  Oh  dear ! this  will  be  tremendous  fun.  Who  ever  heard  of  a woman 
chaperoning  an  admirer  before  ? — and  that’s  what  I intend  to  do.  Now  for  my  friend 
the  major.  I dare  say  he  thinks  I shall  commit  myself,  more  or  less ; but  he’ll  be  mi* 


Good  Counsel. 


61 


taken ; ” and  then  Lizzie  laughed,  and,  sitting  down  at  her  desk,  politely  informed 
Major  Jenkens  that  she  regretted  she  could  be  of  no  assistance  to  him  in  this  matter. 
“ Had  I been  fortunate  enough  myself  to  receive  a card  for  the  Misses  Stanburys’ 
dance,  I might,  perhaps,  have  asked  Captain  Detfield  to  accompany  us ; but  as  things 
are,  I am  sorry  to  say  I can  render  you  no  help  whatever 
“ A clever  woman,”  muttered  the  major,  when  he  received  this  note,  “ and  deter- 
mined to  see , evidently.  Now  I’d  rather  she  didn’t,  for,  from  what  Roxby  tells  me. 
Miss  Stanbury’s  a trifle  too  good-looking  to  enlist  her  sympathies.  Well,  it  cuts  both 
ways ; if  it  makes  it  more  difficult  with  Mrs.  Paynter,  it’ll  smooth  matters  with  the 
captain.  Hum — yes,  by  Jove!  I’ve  an  idea.  I don’t  know,  madam,  but  I think 
Claxby  Jenkens  may  prove  just  one  too  many  for  you  all  the  same ; ” and  the  major 
chuckled  to  himself  with  considerable  gusto,  as  he  enclosed  a card  for  the  Roseneath 
dance  to  his  fair  but  dubious  ally. 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Paynter  felt  pretty  well  assured  that  this  would  come.  The  next 
thing  to  be  done  was  to  entrap  the  unconscious  victim.  “ Not  much  difficulty  about 
it,”  thinks  Lizzie.  “ If  he  doesn’t  turn  up  for  afternoon  tea  to-day,  he  will  to-morrow, 
most  probably.” 

Charlie  is  pretty  regular  in  his  devotion,  and  seldom  allows  two  days  to  pass 
without  doing  homage  at  the  tea-table  of  his  fair  enchantress.  A3  Mrs.  Paynter 
anticipated,  a little  after  five  Captain  Detfield  is  ushered  into  her  cosey  drawing-room, 
and,  having  made  his  salutations,  proceeds  to  establish  himself  in  an  arm-chair  near 
the  fire  that  he  particularly  affects. 

“Yes;  you  will  do  there  very  nicely,”  remarked  Lizzie,  laughing.  “I  have 
noticed  that  when  you  are  installed  in  that  seat  you  are  usually  too  lazy  to  get  out  of 
it,  unless  either  force  of  circumstances  or  peremptory  commands  impel  you  to  the 

effort.” 

“ It  is  a very  comfortable  chair;  and  you  know,  lady  fair,  that  I am  never  so  happy 
as  when  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  your  presence.” 

“ Ah,  well ! you  are  at  liberty  to  bask  for  a little,  because,  you  see,  I have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you.  Will  you  come  with  us  to  a dance  Friday  week  ? ” 

“ Only  too  charmed  to  attend  any  festival  in  your  society,  as,  however  dreary  such 
festival  may  ultimately  turn  out,  I,  at  least,  shall  be  safe,”  replied  Charlie. 

“ Very  good,  sir ; then  we  will  give  you  some  dinner  here  on  Friday,  and  after- 
wards you  shall  accompany  us  to  the  wilds  of  Islington.” 

“ Islington ! what  on  earth  takes  you  to  Islington  ? Deuced  odd,  I've  got  a card 
from  some  Strawberries,  — no,  — Cranberries,  to  a dance  up  that  way.” 

“ Stanburys  you  mean ; the  very  people.” 

“ But  how  did  you  come  to  know  them  ? ” inquired  Charlie,  with  some  little  curiosity. 
“ I don’t  know  them  as  yet ; but  I hope  to  make  their  acquaintance  by  attending 
their  dance.  Very  rich  people,  I’m  told.” 

“ I never  heard  of  them  before,  and  have  no  conception  what  induced  them  to 


Two  Kisses. 


honor  me  with  an  invitation.  Not  likely  I should  have  troubled  them,  if  it  had  nai 
been  for  the  unexpected  inducement  you  hold  out.” 

•‘But  you  know  you, ought  to  go  eveiy where,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  gravely. 

“ So  I do,”  laughed  Charlie ; “ nobody  can  accuse  me  of  playing  the  misanthrope.” 

“ Yes,”  continued  the  lady,  in  serious  tones.  “ It  is  getting  time  you  were  settled. 
You.  know  you  are  getting  desperately  hard  up,  Charlie.  Marriage  is  the  only  thing 
to  give  you  a fair  start  again ; so,  of  course,  you  must  marry.” 

“ This  from  you ! ” interposed  Detfield. 

“ Naturally,  who  should  you  expect  good  advice  from,  if  not  from  me  ? Young 
ladies  of  fortune  require  looking  for ; therefore,  I repeat,  your  duty  to  yourself  is  to 
go  everywhere  — ” 

“ And  give  young  ladies  of  fortune  an  opportunity  of  selection,”  retorted  Charlie, 
laughing.  “ Still,  I never  thought  you  would  take  an  interest  in  my  marriage.” 

“ A woman  always  takes  an  interest  in  the  future  of  a man  who  has  been  interested 
in  her,”  observed  Mrs.  Paynter,  demurely. 

“ Oh ! you  admit  I have  been  that.” 

“Yes;  will  go  further,  and  say  you  are  still.  Stop!  ” she  continued,  with  an  im- 
perious gesture  of  her  hand,  as  she  saw  he  was  about  to  speak.  “ I don’t  think  you 
have  ever  been  seriously  ipris  with  any  woman.  Of  course,  I admit  your  devotion  to 
myself  is  the  exception ; out  I am  afraid  that  you  might  manage  even  to  get  over  that 
in  a case  of  emergency.” 

“ And  you  are  prepared  t£  resign  my  homage  at  any  moment  ? ” 

“I  must  not  think  of  myself,”  rejoined  the  lady,  plaintively.  “It  would  be  for 
your  own  good,  you  know.” 

Detfield  paused  for  some  minutes  before  he  answered,  gazing  steadily  into  the  fire 
meanwhile.  He  knew,  in  good  truth,  that  this  was  no  more  than  one  of  those  butter- 
fly liaisons  in  which  his  whole  life  had  been  passed ; but  it  was  a blow  to  his  self-love 
to  think  that  his  devotion  could  be  resigned  so  lightly.  It  was  the  first  time  he  haa 
encountered  a woman  so  completely  of  his  own  calibre ; a more  thorough  practi- 
tioner, indeed,  in  the  science  of  flirtation  than  himself ; a clever  woman,  too,  whom 
he  felt  read  him  at  sight.  Still  he  had  flattered  himself  that  she  would  be  wroth,  at 
all  events,  at  the  bare  idea  of  his  seceding  from  his  post  of  cavaliere  servente  — and 
yet  she  herself  was  coolly  recommending  that  he  should  marry.  Women  don’t  do  that 
if  their  feelings  are  much  involved,  Charlie  knew  full  well.  He  was  not  anxious,  per- 
haps, that  Lizzie  should  arrive  at  that  point  regarding  him.  He  had  more  than  once 
encountered  the  difficulties  of  too  exigeante  a passion,  and  was  aware  that  a woman’s 
jealousy  may  ruffle  the  rose-leaves  of  life  considerably.  If  you  embark  in  illicit 
flirtation,  you  must  encounter  these  experiences.  Still  he  was  not  prepared  to  submit 
quietly  to  curt  dismissal. 

“ I don’t  know  about  my  own  good  at  all,”  he  replied,  at  length,  somewhat  brusquely. 

* It  would  seem  that  you,  at  all  events,  wish  to  get  rid  of  me.” 

She  had  been  studying  his  face  keenly.  She  had  guessed  pretty  well  what  wa« 


To  Wed  or  Not  to  Wed. 


63 


running  through  his  mind,  but  she  was  bent  on  carrying  out  her  whim.  She  had  no 
thought  as  yet  of  aiding  the  major’s  scheme,  further  than  that  she  would  satisfy  her 
own  curiosity,  and  see  this  girl  it  was  proposed  should  be  Detfield’s  bride. 

“Unjust!  unjust !”  she  murmured.  “You’re  all  alike,  you  always  are.  When 
we  stifle  our  own  feelings  in  order  to  honestly  serve  you,  then  you  call  us  heartless, 
callous  flirts.” 

“ I did  not  say  that,”  replied  Charlie,  quickly. 

“ As  if  it  was  necessary  to  be  rude  enough  to  say  so,”  retorted  Lizzie,  petulantly ; 
“ as  if  a glance,  a gesture,  could  not  insinuate  such  meaning  to  any  woman  not  also- 
futely  a fool ; as  if,  Captain  Detfield,  you  had  not,  in  your  own  mind,  accused  me  of 
being  all  three  during  the  last  few  minutes,”  concluded  Mrs.  Paynter,  defiantly. 

He  knew  that  it  was  so,  and  rejoined,  somewhat  coolly : — 

“ Your  alarming  interest  concerning  my  marriage  naturally  led  me  to  think  that 
you  wished  to  be  rid  of  me.” 

“ Don’t  be  foolish,”  she  broke  in,  quickly.  “ I only  wish  to  ext*  .cate  you  from  your 
involvements;  and  even  then,  mind,  I shall  withhold  my  permission,  unless  she 
possesses  one  most  necessary  qualification.” 

“ And  that  is  ? ” 

“Being  tolerably  plain,”  retorted  Lizzie,  laughing.  “I  don’t  want  you  to  be  able 
to  break  my  chains  altogether,  you  see.  And  now  we  are  friends  again,  are  we  not  ? 
And  you  will  come  with  us  to  this  dance  on  Friday  next  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  if  you  wish  it ; though  what  has  put  it  into  your  head  to  conspire  to 
many  me  to  a Gorgon,  I can’t  conceive,”  remarked  Charlie,  rising. 

“ Your  creditors,  of  course,”  retorted  Mrs.  Paynter,  laughing;  “but  it’s  not  so  bad 
as  that.  I only  insist  on  some  one  who  shall  not  eclipse  me . But  I may  make  my 
mind  easy.  Wealth  and  beauty  are  not  often  found  awaiting  a wooer,  and  when  they 
are  — well,  they  expect  a good  deal  in  exchange.  Good-by ! ” 

“ It  seems  to  be  growing  on  the  community,  generally,  that  I am  to  many  an 
El  Dorado,”  mused  Charlie,  as  he  walked  leisurely  homewards.  “ Well,  as  the 
public  seem  to  have  taken  my  case  up,  I shall  leave  the  public  to  settle  that  arrange- 
ment if  they  can.  Personally,  1 decline  to  interfere  with  inevitable  destiny  in  that 
fast  ion.  I have  remarked  that  some  of  those  I know  have  not  become  particularly 
fight-hearted  after  achieving  it ; not  so  cheery  by  half  as  they  were  in  their  old  days 
of  chronic  insolvency.” 


CHAPTER  XH. 

TO  WED  OB  NOT  TO  WED. 

To  vanish  from  the  world  we  live  in ! — a thing  at  once  so  easy,  so  difficult  of  achieve- 
ment. I am  speaking  of  disappearance  from  that  narrow  circle  which  constitutes  the 
World  to  most  of  us,  not  of  leaving  this  terrestial  globe  of  ours  for  the  unknown  land 

5 


64 


Two  Kisses. 


that  lies  beyond.  You  shall  try  to  be  lost  to  all  whom  you  have  hitherto  known;  to 
cast  behind  you,  to  bury  in  oblivion,  the  life  you  have  hitherto  led.  You  shall  take 
incredible  precautions  to  leave  no  trace  of  where  you  have  betaken  yourself,  and 
before  six  weeks  are  over  some  one  or  other  of  the  most  obnoxious  of  your  acquaint* 
ance  has  stumbled  upon  your  retreat  and  published  it  far  and  wide.  Your  motive  foT 
such  retirement  matters  not.  Whether  you  had  a poem  to  complete,  a great  scientific 
discovery  to  work  out ; whether  you  had  quarrelled  with  your  wife,  could  no  longer 
hit  it  off  with  your  creditors,  or  were  simply  bored,  — veritably  sick  of  the  old  jog  trot 
circle  in  which  you  happen  to  move,  — the  fact  remains  the  same;  you  wished  to  be 
lost  and  you  failed  utterly. 

Again  you  shall  depart  from  your  home  openly  and  avowedly  for  three  days. 
Chance  or  caprice  shall  lead  you  to  extend  your  holiday  to  six  weeks.  You  shall  take 
no  care  in  the  world  to  conceal  your  movements.  You  are  simply  too  lazy  to 
communicate  with  your  friends,  and  you  have  vanished  utterly  from  the  knowledge 
of  your  own  circle.  Advertisements  in  the  “ Times,*’  keen-eyed  policemen  dragging 
water  where  you  are  not,  even  the  famous  Pollaky  himself,  one  and  all  are  useless 
Not  a trace,  not  a sign,  not  a rumor  of  you,  till  you  once  more  cross  the  domestic 
door-sill  and  send  the  wife  of  your  bosom  into  hysterics. 

Why  is  this  ? How  is  it  that  it  would  seem  so  much  easier  to  disappear  without 
taking  precaution  against  being  tracked,  than  when  we  seek  to  obliterate  our  foot 
steps  ? It  is  singular,  Mr.  Bauer,  who  went  to  Euston  square  with  his  portmanteau 
in  broad  daylight,  telegraphing  to  his  business  friends  in  Manchester  to  advise  them  of 
his  coming,  is  as  completely  lost  as  if  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  him ; as 
indeed  perhaps  it  may  have  done.  On  the  other  hand,  those  splendid  criminals,  the 
Bidwells,  in  spite  of  precautions,  most  elaborate  plans,  long  before  devised  and  care- 
fully considered,  fell  one  and  all  in  the  course  of  a few  weeks  into  the  hands  of  the 
hunters.  Over-anxiety  to  succeed  is  constantly  fatal  to  success ; too  great  elaboration 
has  marred  many  a promising  conception,  and  it  may  be  that  such  excessive  care  to 
leave  no  trace  behind  is  the  very  thing  that  brings  detection,  that  gives  the  clue  so 
laboriously  sought  to  be  destroyed. 

Major  Claxby  Jenkens  had  anticipated  little  difficulty  in  discovering  Mr.  Hems* 
worth’s  retreat,  after  reading  that  letter  from  his  correspondent  in  Paris.  The  major 
had  reasons  of  his  own  for  wishing  to  know  what  had  become  of  the  widow,  and  never 
dreamed  but  such  would  be  a very  simple  matter.  To  a man  of  his  business  habits 
and  somewhat  dubious  pursuits  the  putting  the  necessary  machinery  in  motion  was 
very  simple.  He  knew  where  to  make  inquiries  in  numberless  channels,  that  it  is 
not  given  to  most  people  to  be  acquainted  with ; where  to  lay  his  hand  on  all  sortq 
of  agents  that  the  world  generally  wotted  not  of.  lie  had  no  trouble  at  all  in  finding 
out  that  she  had  left  Paris  for  England,  in  ascertaining  the  very  boat  in  which  she 
had  crossed  the  channel,  and  that  she  had  taken  a through  ticket  for  London.  But 
there  all  trace  of  her  was  lost*  The  huge  city  had  swallowed  her  up,  and  beyond  that 
the  major  could  not  ge+r< 


To  Wed  or  Not  to  Wed. 


65 


It  puzzled  him  this. 

“ What  reason  could  she  have  for  concealment  ? ” argued  the  major,  putting  the 
ease  hypothetically  to  himself,  one  morning,  in  his  office.  “ Clearly  none  — at  least, 
that  I can  imagine/’  he  subjoined  with  habitual  caution,  “ because  one  never  can  be 
sure  what  maggot  may  not  have  entered  a woman’s  brain.  She  certainly  took  no 
trouble  to  conceal  her  movements,  as,  again,  why  should  she  ? Left  Paris  suddenly, 
— well,  after  the  utter  smash  consequent  upon  her  husband’s  death,  that  was  very 
natural.  But  why  did  she  come  to  England  ? That  I can’t  understand.  Her  disap- 
pearance here,  I take  it,  is  a matter  of  accident,  not  design.  She’s  probably  in  Lon- 
don this  moment,  and  a more  difficult  place  to  find  any  one  you  may  want  there 
doesn’t  happen  to  be  in  the  universal  globe.  “ I don’t  think  they’d  find  me  in  Lon- 
don,” mused  the  major,  with  a pleasant  smile,”  if  ever  I should  take  a fancy  to  turn 
hermit.  But  this  won’t  do.  The  logic  of  the  case  is  what  I must  attend  to.  Of 
course,  I might  advertise ; but  that’s  clumsy,  very ; ” and  the  major  shook  his  head 
deprecatingly,  as  if  the  suggestion  had  come  from  some  neophyte  in  the  science  of 
doing  your  “ duty  towards  your  neighbor.”  “ No ! who  on  earth  would  she  be  likely 
to  communicate  with  in  this  countiy  ? that  is  the  question.  — She  might,  — yes,  by  Jove ! 
she  might,  — no,  that’s  not  probable,  either ; at  all  events,  I could  soon  ascertain  that. 
Stop!  Doesn’t  Rayner  say  that  he  understands  an  English  barrister  had  a good 
deal  to  do  with  the  winding  up  of  her  affairs  ? Where’s  the  letter  ? ” and  the  major 
turned  sharply  to  his  desk. 

Little  trouble  had  he  in  finding  the  letter  he  sought,  amid  those  regular,  carefully 
labelled  pigeon-holes.  A man,  this,  of  methodical,  orderly  habits,  docketing  his 
very  invitations  to  dinner. 

“ Yes,  I thought  so ; but  Rayner  does  not  mention  his  name.  Don’t  know  it,  per- 
haps. Still,  if  he  was  arranging  her  affairs,  there  must  be  plenty  of  Mark  Hems- 
worth’s  creditors  who  do ; there  can  be  little  difficulty  about  getting  at  that.  I will 
write  to  Rayner  to-day,  and  tell  him  to  ascertain  all  he  can,  and  let  me  know  as 
quickly  as  possible.  That  affair’s  disposed  of  for  the  present.  Now  for  the  other ; ” 
and  the  major  fell  into  a deep  reverie. 

“ Yes,”  he  muttered,  at  length,  “ I think  that  will  do  if  I can  come  to  terms  with 
Roxby ; that  sanctimonious  old  sinner  is  harder  to  deal  with  than  any  other  man  I ever 
came  across  yet.  There  are  not  many  men  who  can  say  they’ve  had  the  best  of 
Claxby  Jenkens  since  he  cut  his  wisdom-teeth,  but  he  happens  to  be  one  of  them. 
No,  if  we  are  to  be  partners  this  time,  I’ll  have  my  fair  half  of  the  stakes,  or  throw 
up  my  hand  before  the  game’s  played  out.  I’ve  put  it  all  in  training  and  hold  the 
strings;  but  the  puppets  shan’t  dance,  my  dear  Roxby,  until  you  have  thoroughly  sat- 
isfied me.  You’re  a most  excellent  man,  a man,  no  doubt,  held  in  high  esteem  by 
your  neighbors,”  continued  the  major,  with  a low  chuckle ; “ but  your  neighbors  don’t 
know  you  quite  so  well  as  I do.  I could  imagine  you  taking  just  a * leetle  ’ advantage 
of  an  old  friend,  if  you  saw  your  way.  It  will  be  my  business  to  put  temptation  out 
®f  yoiu  i each.  Yesc  my  dear  Roxby r FU  ti©  you  up  pretty  tight  this  time,  you  m ay 


66 


Two  Kisses, 


rest  assured ; ” and  the  major’s  eyes  glittered  with  a brightness  suggestive  of  jpec- 
tacles  being  a most  unnecessary  adjunct  to  their  capacity  for  looking  into  things. 

“As  for  Captain  Detfield,”  continued  the  major,  still  pursuing  his  vein  of  thought, 
“ he  is  much  too  deep  in  the  hands  of  the  money-lenders  to  refuse  to  do  what  he  is 
bidden.  It  is  not  putting  anything  unpalatable  to  him,  when  you  simply  require  him 
to  marry  a pretty  girl  with  a fortune,  and  so  discharge  his  liabilities.  I can  only  saj> 
if  he  does  give  trouble,  he’ll  find  it  unpleasant ; ” and  the  major’s  lips  tightened  in  an 
ominous  way,  as  he  reflected  on  the  possibility  of  contumacy  on  the  part  of  Charlie 
Detfield.  “ It’s  dangerous  working  with  such  an  uncertain  ally  as  Mrs.  Paynter,  no 
doubt ; but,  bah ! you  must  risk  something.  My  interview  the  other  day  told  me  two 
things : first,  that  her  regard  for  Detfield  was  one  of  those  illusive  passions  which 
women  take  up,  as  they  do  a new  fashion ; secondly,  that  the  excitement  of  intrigue 
is  the  dominant  force  in  her  character.  I intend  to  gratify  it.  I could  hardly  have 
managed  Detfield  cleverly  at  this  stage  of  the  business  without  assistance.  The  next 
thing  will  be  to  hoodwink  her,  or  else  she  will  spoil  my  game,  probably.  She’s  a 
clever  woman,  but  I flatter  myself  when  she  drives  home  from  Roseneatli  House  next 
Friday,  she  will  be  committed  to  a little  conspiracy  which  she  will  be  far  from 
comprehending.  Might  be  awkward,  indeed,  if'  she  did  understand  it  prematurely,” 
thought  the  major. 

But  while  Major  Jenkens  is  making  such  strenuous  search  for  Mrs.  Hemsworth, 
comfortably  located,  as  we  know,  within  a mile  of  him,  Montague  Gore  is  also  straining 
every  nerve  to  trace  the  antecedents  of  Mark  Hemsworth.  It  is  curious  these  two 
men  have  never  met,  although  they  have  more  than  one  mutual  acquaintance,  and 
yet  at  the  present  moment,  each  is  in  possession  of  the  information  for  which  the 
other  is  so  diligently  seeking.  Such  things  occur  more  often  in  life  than  would  be 
credited.  Have  you  never  anxiously  sought  for  information  in  every  direction,  and 
finally  discovered  that  the  most  unlikely  man  of  your  acquaintance  was  perfectly 
competent  to  tell  you  all  that  you  wanted  to  know?  Have  you  ever  spent  days 
searching  for  a quotation  that  has  caught  your  fancy,  and  after  ransacking  all  likely 
writers  in  vain,  suddenly  met  it  again  in  some  newspaper  or  periodical,  with  the  name 
of  the  author  tacked  comfortably  to  it  ? There  are  some  people  whom  you  can  never 
move  without  meeting,  Piccadilly  or  Palmyra,  Ascot  Heath  or  the  Arctic  seas,  you 
know  you  are  certain  to  come  across  them.  There  are  others  you  hear  about  all  your 
life,  and  never  see.  All  your  friends  know  them.  You  are  continually  leaving  a 
house  forty-eight  hours  before  their  arrival,  or  arriving  forty-eight  hours  after  their 
departure.  You  have  been  asked  to  meet  them  time  after  time,  in  all  sorts  of  ways; 
but  you  have  never  met.  It  has  looked  a certainty  very  often  that  you  would  do  so, 
but  somehow  it  has  never  come  to  pass.  If  you  are  of  a reflective  turn  of  mind  you 
know  now  that  it  never  will.  Your  kismet  is  written,  and  among  other  things,  it  is 
preordained  that  you  and  they  shall  never  clasp  palms. 

Montague  Gore  has  made  but  slight  way  in  his  inquiries  as  yet.  Cissy  can  give 
him  no  information  as  to  what  part  of  England  her  husband  had  belonged  t©.  Sfe® 


To  Wed  or  Not  to  Wed. 


67 


knew,  indeed,  nothing  of  his  life  previous  to  their  marriage.  Mark  Hemsworth  had 
treated  her  always  as  a mere  child;  whether  she  were  in  favor  or  disgrace,  it  made  no 
difference.  She  wras  to  him  not  a wife,  but  a plaything.  When  he  was  in  good 
humor  he  would  lavish  jewels  and  laces  upon  her.  When  things  crossed  him  he 
would  spare  neither  gibe  nor  jeer  at  her  expense.  In  spite  of  its  outward  luxury 
Cissy’s  life  had  been  no  bed  of  roses.  In  all  that  gorgeous  glitter  in  which  her  last 
five  years  had  been  passed  there  had  been  a cynical  worldliness  that  had  often 
repelled  her.  She  had  craved,  as  women  always  will,  for  sympathy  of  some  sort. 
She  had  made  no  friend  in  all  that  time  to  whom  she  could  speak  unreservedly  — 
there  was  no  one  of  her  own  sex  to  whom  she  could  open  out  her  heart.  Frank  as 
she  was  in  manner,  yet  hers  was  one  of  those  self-contained  natures  that  keep  their 
feelings  under  control,  and  show  but  rarely  the  inner  springs  that  move  them.  They 
yield  not  their  confidence  lightly,  and  make  no  parade  of  such  sorrows  as  may  befall 
them.  It  was  partly  the  isolation  of  her  lot,  and  Mrs.  Paynter’s  caressing  manner 
that  had  attracted  her  towards  that  lady,  when  she  first  made  her  acquaintance  in 
Paris.  Then,  too,  Lizzie  was  English,  and  that  had  some  influence  over  her ; for  in 
the  set  in  which  Cissy  habitually  lived,  English  ladies  were  not  much  wont  to  mingle. 
If  the  society  in  which  she  mixed  was  wealthy,  it  savored  very  much  of  the  Bourse, 
and  rather  lacked  refinement.  It  had  taught  her  in  five  years  two  things : to  dress 
and  to  spend  money;  a University  education  in  our  own  country  produces  at  times 
no  more  definite  results. 

It  was  a good  deal  to  the  credit  of  Cissy’s  natural  disposition  that  it  had  taught 
her  to  do  no  worse.  Quite  possible  to  have  come  out  of  such  an  ordeal  vicious, 
instead  of  merely  frivolous.  Cissy  regarded  life,  at  present,  as  a scene  in  which  it 
was  incumbent  upon  her  to  be  always  well-dressed  and  well-mannered.  She  fears 
ennui  at  twenty-two  considerably  more  than  she  does  destitution,  and  this  in  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  we  know  she  is  placed ; and  yet  this  woman  is  not  a fool.  But 
she  has  never  known  so  far  what  it  is  to  have  to  think  about  money,  and  is  as  calmly 
convinced  that  some  one  will  marry  her  and  spare  her  all  trouble  on  that  head,  as  if 
she  were  already  affianced  to  a millionnaire. 

Kemember,  she  married  as  a portionless  girl,  without  the  slightest  difficulty ; that 
she  has  been  f4ted  all  her  life ; that  she  has  been  accustomed  to  hear  of  large  sums 
made  daily  by  those  with  whom  she  associated ; that  she  has  constantly  seen  her  hus- 
band’s reckless  speculating  friends  choose  for  their  brides,  pretty,  dowerless  girls,  and 
the  thing  becomes  not  altogether  so  unnatural  as  it  at  first  sounds.  Cissy,  judging 
by  the  lights  of  her  own  world,  thinks  that  the  acquirement  of  riches  is  a very  easy 
and  every-day  affair.  She  would,  perhaps,  sum  up  her  ideas  in  this  fashion : “ that 
when  a man  wants  money,  he  goes  into  business  and  makes  it.”  The  going  forth  in 
search  of  wool  and  coming  home  shorn  is  a phase  of  commercial  transactions  of  which 
she  has  no  experience.  The  free  lances  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  like  “ tne  plungers  ” 
of  the  turf^  are  jubilant  in  their  hour  of  triumph,  but  mute  when  the  battb  goe* 


68 


Two  Kisses. 


against  them  for  the  most  part.  It  is  the  men,  too,  who  are  always  lamenting  theii 

losses  that  wax  rich  steadily. 

Montague  Gore  is  busily  engaged  in  trying  to  trace  out  Mark  Hemsworth’s 
family  in  England.  This  he  thinks  is  the  first  thing  to  be  done,  in  order  to  clear  up 
that  doubtful  point,  as  to  whether  Cissy  ever  had  a marriage  settlement.  Evidently 
no  trace  of  such  a settlement  is  to  be  got  out  of  all  that  Paris  tangle ; nothing,  indeed, 
to  warrant  such  a notion,  but  that  one  memorandum  of  the  dead  man’s.  What  irri- 
tates him  and  troubles  him  considerably  is  Cissy’s  resolute  refusal  to  tell  him  her 
father’s  name.  Where  he  may  be,  she  admits  she  has  no  conception ; but  that  he 
could  determine  this  matter  stands  to  reason.  What  can  be  her  object  in  declining  to 
tell  his  name  ? He  has  pressed  this  more  than  once,  pointed  out  that  it  is  so  obvi- 
ously the  most  direct  way  to  get  at  what  they  want.  But  Cissy  is  inflexible.  She 
has  her  reasons,  she  says ; is  very  grateful  for  what  he  has  already  done,  but  help  him 
in  that  way  she  cannot.  If  that  is  a necessity,  if  he  sees  no  other  way  of  arriving  at 
the  truth  save  by  that  channel,  well,  then  he  must  abandon  his  exertions  in  her  behalf. 
She  is  very  firm  on  this  point.  Equally  reticent,  too,  concerning  her  early  days ; of 
her  life  previous  to  entering  the  convent  Cissy  will  say  nothing. 

The  more  he  looks  at  it  from  the  worldly  and  common-sense  point  of  view,  the 
more  convinced  Montague  Gore  is  of  the  madness  of  his  infatuation  for  Cissy  Hems- 
worth.  But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  common  sense  is  likely  to  be  an  antidote  to  the 
fatal  philtre  of  the  love-god.  She  is  extravagant,  she  is  half  his  age,  and  is  no  one 
knows  who.  If  he  marries,  he  should  obtain  either  money,  connection,  or  at  least 
congenial  companionship.  There  are  fifty  reasons  why  he  should  not  marry  Cissy ; 
there  is  but  one  why  he  should.  He  loves  her  — and  in  the  meridian  of  life,  is  that 
to  be  deemed  valid  excuse  for  imprudent  marriage  ? He  argues  the  case  over 
and  over  again  with  himself,  dwelling  sternly  on  each  objection  the  match  as  he 
recapitulates  them ; but  his  going  up  to  Hanover  street  daily  is  that  pennyworth  of 
fact  which  is  ever  worth  all  the  theories  in  the  world.  When  a man  argues  about 
the  imprudence  of  becoming  lie  with  a woman,  and  continues  to  frequent  her  draw- 
ing-rooms, he  can  bamboozle  no  one  but  himself.  He  offers  but  another  sad  example 
of  theoretical  wisdom  and  practical  folly. 

Still  Montague  Gore  hesitates  to  speak.  He  has  not  resolution  to  fly  temptation, 
though  his  eyes  are  open  to  the  imprudence  of  what  he  half  contemplates  doing.  He 
soothes  himself  with  the  idea  that  it  is  necessaiy  that  he  should  see  Mrs.  Hemsworth 
constantly  on  business ; though,  considering  that  the  very  little  she  has  to  tell  she 
systematically  refuses  to  open  her  lips  about,  and  that  his  inquiries  have  as  yet  come 
to  nothing,  there  does  not  seem  much  necessity  for  continual  consultation  between 
them.  Sometimes  he  wonders  what  answer  Cissy  would  make  to  him.  He  has  the 
field  all  to  himself,  which  is  something,  and  she  always  welcomes  him  warmly,  it  is  true ; 
but  Montague  Gore  cannot  as  yet  flatter  himself  that  Cissy’s  feelings  are  involved,  as 
far  as  he  is  concerned.  Her  bright  smile,  frank,  out-stretched  hand,  and  soft  voice 
greet  him  with  evident  pleasure  whenever  he  calls ; but  the  voice  n*,ver  falters,  the 


The  Ball  at  Roseneath  House. 


69 


cheek  never  changes,  the  hand  never  trembles.  Montague  Gore  read  aright,  when 
he  downed  Cissy’s  heart  still  in  her  own  keeping. 


CHAPTER  XLLL 

THB  BALL  AT  ROSENEATH  HOUSS. 

“ Time  treads  o’er  the  graves  of  affection; 

Sweet  honey  is  turned  into  gall; 

Perhaps  you  have  no  recollection 

That  ever  you  danced  at  our  ball.” 

Roseneath  House  is  a blaze  of  light,  and  a perfect  grove  of  evergreens.  Once 
Miss  Matilda  had  made  up  her  mind  that  a dance  should  be,  and  she  was  just  the 
woman  to  throw  herself  heart  and  soul  into  it.  An  energetic  woman,  not  liking  to 
be  thrown  out  of  her  groove  to  start  with,  but  that  difficulty  once  overcome,  one  who 
determined  that  what  she  undertook  should  be  carried  out  thoroughly.  Bessie’s 
trustee,  Mr.  Roxby,  a great  authority  with  her,  had  pronounced  strongly  in  favor  of 
the  dance  when  consulted.  That  Mr.  Roxby  had  his  own  ends  to  serve  we  know,  but 
of  course  Miss  Stansbury  did  not.  He  said  it  was  only  right  that  his  ward  should  see 
a little  more  of  the  world,  and  hinted  that  it  was  Bessie’s  aunts  who  should  afford  her 
some  opportunity  of  doing  so. 

Mr.  Roxby’s  word  was  law  with  Miss  Matilda.  His  verdict  being  for  a ball,  Miss 
Stansbury  made  up  her  mind  that  Roseneath  House  should  entertain  on  a grand  scale, 
and  led  her  sister  and  Bessie  a troublous  time  of  it.  And  yet  they  enjoyed  it 
thoroughly.  Although  the  preparations  involved,  as  Bessie  had  laughingly  predicted, 
picnicing  at  uncertain  hours,  bivouacking  on  staircases,  and  all  those  attendant  sor- 
rows inseparable  from  small  establishments  when  they  plunge  into  large  entertain- 
ments, still  Miss  Matilda  was  in  great  force.  She  quite  harried  Aunt  Clem  and  Bessie, 
hideed,  in  her  ceaseless  supervision,  making  those  two  originators  of  the  affair  race 
up  and  down  stairs  till  they  declared  they  could  do  so  no  longer ; dashing  into  their 
bedrooms,  at  untimely  hours,  with  new  conceptions,  and  accusing  them  of  laziness 
and  lukewarmness  concerning  the  whole  thing,  in  a way  that  made  Bessie  declare  she 
knew  Aunt  Matilda  looked  forward  to  dancing  all  night. 

When  you  have  infinite  wealth  at  your  disposal,  you  simply  say  : 41  Let  there  be  a 
ball,  and  there  is  a ball.”  But  to  smaller  people,  a ball  involves  much  thought,  ma- 
nipulation, worry  and  upsetting  of  the  establishment.  However,  the  ball  at  Roseneath 
House  is  now  a fact  accomplished.  The  lamps  are  lit,  the  floors  are  swept,  the  band  is 
tuning  its  instruments,  and  the  hostesses,  clad  in  silks  and  satins,  are  awaiting  their 
guests. 

There  is  a considerable  difference  in  the  age  and  appearance  of  the  spinsters.  Aunt 


70 


Two  Kisses. 


Matilda,  turned  of  forty,  and  arrayed  in  stately  lace  and  velvet,  awaits  the  coming  of 
«ne  multitude  with  serene  composure.  Aunt  Clem,  a good  half-dozen  years  her  junior, 
is  dressed  more  youthfully,  in  satin,  and  exhibits  some  tremor  and  nervousness.  Aunt 
Clem  does  not  consider  her  dancing  days  over  as  yet — has,  perhaps,  indeed,  a still  lurk- 
ing idea  that  she  has  not  yet  passed  the  marriageable  age,  and  who  shall  say  what  to- 
night may  bring  forth.  Indeed,  she  carries  her  years  well,  and  might  pass  easily  for 
somewhat  less  than  she  actually  is,  — a pleasant,  fair  face,  with  kindly,  honest,  blue  eyes 
shining  out  of  it.  A middle-aged  man  might  do  worse  than  ask  Aunt  Clem  to  tread 
life’s  path  with  him.  But  then,  middle-aged  men  have  always  a tendency  to  select  a 
bride  from  the  juvenile  ranks,  — a mistake  usually  paid  for  on  one  side  or  the  other. 

As  for  Bessie,  arrayed  in  a cloud  of  white  tarlatan,  trimmed  with  forget-me-nots 
and  rosebuds,  only  an  art-critic  or  a misogynist  would  deny  her  title  to  be  called  a 
pretty  girl  to-night.  But  now  begins  the  rumbling  of  wheels,  and  the  faint  rustling 
in  the  hall  that  heralds  the  arrival  of  the  guests.  Foremost  among  these  is  Mr. 
Boxby,  a tall,  pompous  man,  with  an  amount  of  starched  neckcloth  round  his  throa+ 
that  nothing  but  an  unusually  long  neck  enables  him  to  look  over,  exhibiting  a most 
capacious  white  waistcoat  and  voluminous  shirt-front,  with  an  air  of  paternal  conde- 
scension. die  makes  his  obeisance  in  a manner  that  indicates  he  takes  the  whole 
arrangements  on  his  shoulders  from  this  out ; that  he  throws  the  aegis  of  his  protection 
over  the  house  for  the  night ; shakes  hands  with  the  elder  Misses  Stanbury  with  lofty 
patronage,  and  touches  Bessie’s  cheek  with  his  lips,  as  if  he  did  her  much  honor  by 
so  doing.  His  whole  manner  indicates  that  really  this  is  a frivolous  affair,  in  which 
he  rather  protests  against  being  mixed  up,  but  to  oblige  his  old  friends  he  will  see 
that  it  goes  off  satisfactorily. 

Mr.  lioxby  is  a man  of  eminent  respectability,  — what  men  of  the  world  sometimes 
call  rather  too  respectable,  having  recollections  of  what  dreadful  backslidings  such 
extreme  respectability  is  occasionally  convicted  of.  Mr.  Boxby  had  started  in  life  in 
a very  humble  way;  he  was  not  clever  by  any  means.  He  had  achieved  success 
simply  because  he  was  so  plausible  and  so  respectable,  and,  though  it  would  astonish 
his  admirers  considerably  to  learn  it,  so  unscrupulous.  Divested  of  his  wThite  waist- 
coat and  paternal  manner  Mr.  Boxby  was  a fraudulent  humbug.  He  had  never 
scrupled  to  turn  money  over  any  transaction  that  passed  through  his  hands.  He  was 
just  one  of  those  men  whom  people  are  so  fond  of  picking  out  as  executor,  trustee, 
arbiter,  etc.  Boxby  had  been  continually  figuring  in  one  or  other  of  these  capacities 
all  his  life,  stood  indeed,  at  this  present  moment,  as  trustee  to  half-a-dozen  different 
people.  He  generally  contrived  that  all  such  appointments  should  conduce  more  or 
less  to  his  advantage.  Not  that  he  ever  made  away  with  moneys  that  did  not  belong 
to  him,  he  is  too  cautious  for  that ; but  he  did  usually  contrive  to  have  very  tidy  pick- 
ings out  of  such  business  as  necessarily  passed  through  his  fingers. 

Mr.  Boxby,  in  pursuance  of  that  unspoken  pledge  which  had  marked  his  greeting, 
takes  up  his  position  by  Miss  Stanbury,  and  proceeds  to  assist  in  the  reception  of  the 
guests.  So  benignantly  patronizing  is  he  in  that  situation,  that  the  strange  element 


The  Ball  at  Roseneath  House. 


71 


which  always  turns  up  at  a London  dance,  entertain  no  manner  of  doubt  but  that  he 
is  the  master  of  the  house,  and  do  salutation  accordingly.  Even  some  of  his  friends 
who  know  the  exact  state  of  the  case  cannot  refrain  from  complimenting  Mr.  Roxby 
on  the  tasteful  arrangements,  so  completely  has  he  taken  the  house  under  the  pro- 
tection of  his  capacious  white  waistcoat.  Several  invitations  have  indeed  been  sent 
out  at  bis  suggestion,  and  he  has  further  been  furnished  at  his  own  request  with  a few 
blank  cards. 

Among  the  early  arrivals  is  Major  Claxby  Jenkens.  The  indefatigable  major 
deems  that  the  little  drama  he  contemplates  will  need  his  immediate  supervision. 

The  major  is  not  wont  to  leave  any  affair,  that  he  may  take  up,  in  other  hands  than 
his  own  more  than  is  absolutely  necessary.  This,  he  considers,  requires  delicate 
manipulation,  and,  with  the  distrust  he  entertains  of  Roxby,  it  is  not  likely  that  he 
will  take  him  into  his  confidence  one  iota  more  than  he  is  obliged.  The  major’s  idea 
is  simply  to  throw  Detfield  and  Miss  Bessie  together,  and  trust  in  the  first  instance  to 
the  girl’s  making  a favorable  impression.  He  has  arrived  at  a pretty  correct  notion 
concerning  Detfield’s  liaison  with  Mrs.  Paynter,  and  deems  that  a fresh  face  might 
easily  extinguish  that  flirtation,  providing  Lizzie  is  not  aroused  into  active  opposition 
by  jealousy  of  her  rival.  He  is  quite  aware  that  her  influence,  at  present,  would  be 
sufficient  to  hold  Detfield  to  his  allegiance,  if  she  chose  to  exert  it.  But  the  major  is 
a born  intriguant.  Such  finessing  as  he  contemplates  affords  him  much  amusement, 
and  he  is  rather  looking  forward  to  his  match  with  Mrs.  Paynter  than  otherwise. 

He  enters  quietly,  his  keen,  restless  eyes  veiled  beneath  his  delicately  gold-rimmed 
spectacles,  and  says,  “ How  d’ye  do  ? ” to  Roxby,  who  presents  him  to  his  hostess  and 
their  niece.  The  major  pays  a few  well-turned  compliments  to  the  elder  ladies, 
studying  Aunt  Clem  with  considerable  attention ; then  he  glances  at  Bessie,  threading 
the  entanglements  of  the  Lancers.  “ A very  pretty,  graceful  girl,”  he  mutters,  “ and 
the  aunt  quite  passable,  and  }roung  enough  for  my  purpose ; two  honors  in  my  hand 
the  first  shuffle  t>f  the  cards,”  and  the  major,  rubbing  his  hands  softly,  said,  “he 
should  like  just  a word  with  Mr.  Roxby.” 

“ What  is  it,  my  dear  friend  ? ” inquired  the  latter,  as  they  drew  a little  on  one  side. 
" Be  as  quick  as  you  can,  please,  as  I am  pledged  to  assist  the  Miss  Stanburys  in 
receiving  their  guests.” 

“ One  word  only.  Don’t  interfere  with  my  proceeding  in  any  way,  and  don’t  allow 
Mrs.  Paynter  to  talk  with  the  Miss  Stanburys  in  the  first  instance.  I think  I see  our 
way  pretty  clearly.  You  and  I will  talk  things  over  later.” 

Bestowing  on  the  major  a smiling  nod  of  acquiescence,  which  almost  amounted  to 
a benediction,  Mr.  Roxby  once  more  resumed  his  post  near  Miss  Matilda.  He  had 
received  his  cue,  and  knew  now  that  it  behoved  him  to  take  charge  of  Mrs.  Paynter 
as  soon  as  she  should  arrive. 

Lizzie’s  entrance  made  rather  a sensation.  Not  only  was  she  a very  striking 
Woman  anywhere,  but  her  toilet,  always  in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  was  calculated 
to  somewhat  dazzle  Islington  in  its  magnificence.  Mrs.  Paynter  piqued  herself  on 


72 


Two  Kisses. 


dressing  from  Paris  direct.  “ Just  a season  ahead  of  London,”  she  was  wont  to 
observe  to  her  intimates.  “ You  will  all  be  wearing  next  year  what  I do  this.” 

Whether  she  was  right  in  such  prophecy  I can’t  say ; but  certain  it  was  that  Lizzie 
was  always  somewhat  original  in  her  dress,  and,  being  gifted  with  excellent  taste, 
never  relapsed  into  the  vulgarism  of  being  outre  as  well  as  original.  Mr.  Roxby 
received  her  with  easy  assurance,  and  having  presented  her  to  Miss  Matilda,  — Aunt 
Clem  being,  by  this,  involved  in  a quadrille,  — offered  his  arm  for  a tour  of  the  rooms. 
Mi’s.  Paynter  was  gracious  in  the  extreme,  admired  everything  and  everybody,  and 
honestly  t hought  the  decorations  very  pretty.  Still  this  was  not  precisely  what  Mrs. 
Paynter  had  come  out  to  Islington  to  see,  and  her  eyes  rolled  somewhat  restlessly 
round  in  search  of  the  n^sterious  Major  Jenkens. 

That  worthy  was  by  no  means  idle.  He  had  marked  her  entrance,  but  purposely 
avoided  her  notice.  No  sooner  had  he  seen  her  move  off,  under  Roxby’s  escort,  than 
he  pounced  upon  Charlie  Detfield,  and  proposed  to  find  him  partners.  Though  out 
of  his  element,  Charlie  was  quite  ready  to  plunge  into  the  festivities  of  the  occasion, 
and  at  once  yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  the  major. 

“ Of  cqurse  you  won’t  mind  going  through  a quadrille  with  one  of  the  ladies  of  the 
house,  to  begin  with  ? ” suggested  that  astute  veteran;  “ and  then  I’ll  find  you  metal 
more  attractive.  There  are  plenty  of  good-looking  girls  here  to-night ; ” and,  before 
Charlie  had  further  time  for  reflection,  he  found  himself  standing  up  with  Aunt  Clem. 

That  satisfactorily  arranged,  the  major  hurried  off  in  search  of  Mrs.  Paynter.  He 
found  that  lively  lady  already  getting  very  tired  of  Mr.  Roxby’s  ponderous  conversa- 
tion, and  was  greeted  with  a most  gracious  smile  of  recognition. 

Dismissing  her  former  escort  with  a slight  bow,  Mrs.  Paynter  took  the  major’s  arm, 
and  without  further  preface  said : — 

“ Of  course  1 expected  to  meet  you  here  to-night,  and  equally,  of  course,  I expect 
to  have  this  bride  you  have  selected  amongst  you  for  Captain  Detfield,  pointed  out 
to  me.” 

“ I feel  honored  by  the  confidence  you  repose  in  me,”  observed  the  major,  “ and 

have  to  thank  you  for  bringing  him.” 

“ Enough,  sir ; now  for  the  lady.  It  was  quite  as  much  to  gratify  my  own  curi- 
osity as  anything  else  that  I interfered  in  your  behalf.  You  owe  me  but  little 
gratitude.” 

Lizzie  felt  a little  angry  with  herself  at  having  yielded  to  the  persuasion  of  guch 
an  utter  stranger ; but  the  temptation  of  seeing  this  heiress  with  her  own  eyes  had 
proved  irresistible. 

“If  you  will  step  into  the  next  room,  I can  point  her  out  to  you  at  once,”  rejoined 
the  major.  “ Captain  Detfield  is  dancing  writh  her  now.” 

u And  does  he  know  that  she  is  his  intended  bride  ? ” 

“ Most  certainly  not,  and  1 must  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy  not  to  divulge  a 
kint  of  any  such  arrangement  being  in  contemplation.  It  may  probably  all  end  to 


The  Ball  at  Roseneath  House. 


n 


nothing,  and  as  the  lady  is  as  ignorant  of  the  design  as  Captain  Detfield,  it  is  only 
fair  to  her  to  keep  it  a secret.  1 may  rely  upon  your  silence,  may  I not  ? ” 

“ Let  me  see  her,”  replied  Lizzie,  curtly. 

As  she  spoke  they  entered  the  adjoining  room,  and  Mrs.  Paynter  beheld  Charlie 
gayly  laughing  and  talking  with  Aunt  Clem. 

“ And  that  is  the  lady  ? ” 

“ That  is  Miss  Stanbury,”  replied  the  major,  diplomatically. 

“Why,  she’s  much  too  old  for  him!  She’s  five -and- thirty  if  she’s  a day,”  rejoined 
Mrs.  Paynter,  sharply. 

“ You  hardly  do  her  justice,  madam.  Turned  of  thirty,  say.  But  what  would  you 
have  ? — you  can’t  have  everything.” 

“ But  he  is  only  six-and-twenty,”  murmured  Lizzie ; “ and  has  contrived  to  accu- 
mulate any  amount  of  debt  in  that  period.” 

“ What  are  four  or  five  years  between  them  ? ” exclaimed  the  major.  “ More 
especially  when  the  lady  brings  as  many  thousands  as  years  to  the  wedding.” 

“ That  may  be ; but  that  match  will  never  take  place.” 

“ Probably  not,  if  you  exercise  your  influence  to  prevent  it,”  rejoined  the  major, 
with  considerable  intention,  and  stealing  a keen  glance  beneath  his  spectacles  at  his 

companion. 

“ I shall  interfere  neither  for  nor  against  it,  sir,”  retorted  Mrs.  Paynter,  haughtily. 
“ Captain  Detfield’s  matrimonial  arrangements  are  nothing  to  me.” 

“ But  I may  rely  on  your  silence  concerning  such  an  idea  ? ” 

“Yes;  ” and  now  the  quadrille  being  over,  and  Aunt  Clem  satisfactorily  disposed 
of,  Mrs.  Paynter  signalled  Charlie  with  her  fan,  and  prepared  to  indemnify  herself  for 
her  researches  on  his  behalf  by  a galop. 

There  i3  no  denying  that  it  is  a very  lively  ball,  with  a swing  and  go  in  it  that  many 
a West-end  dance  might  envy.  As  for  Charlie,  he  has  plunged  into  the  whole  thing 
con  amove , and,  though  he  has  done  a good  deal  of  waltzing  with  Mrs.  Paynter,  has 
by  no  means  restricted  himself  to  one  partner.  The  major  has  been  veiy  attentive  to 
him  in  that  respect,  and  he  now  finds  himself  whirling  round  £he  room  with  Bessie. 
The  girl  dearly  loved  dancing,  and  made  no  scruple  about  showing  it.  Detfield,  as 
may  be  supposed,  was  a good  performer,  and  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  frank 
manner  in  which  she  expressed  her  gratification.  Faster  and  faster  goes  the  music 
of  that  galop  finale,  only  the  most  reckless  dancers  can  keep  pace  with  its  flying  time, 
when  it  suddenly  ends  -with  a tumultuous  crash  of  brazen  instruments,  and  the  hot 
and  thirsty  guests  troop  downstairs  to  supper. 

“ There,  Miss  Stanbury,  I think  we  shall  do  here,”  said  Charlie,  as  he  ensconced  his 
partner  in  a snug  corner  behind  the  door  of  the  supper-room.  “ The  only  thing  that 
weighs  upon  my  mind  is,  whether,  as  the  young  lady  of  the  house,  you  are  justified  in 
submitting  to  so  lowly  a situation.  Only  say  the  word,  though,  and  we  will  gain  tha 
head  of  the  table,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.” 


u 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Oh,  no,”  laughed  Bessie,  u I am  quite  content  as  I am,  and  will  leave  such  honoi 

to  my  grave  and  reverend  seniors.” 

“ I quite  agree  with  you.  One’s  chicken  and  champagne  is  best  consumed  in  shad* 
and  tranquillity.  I always  pity  royalty,  because  quiet  corners  are  things  known  to 
them  only  by  hearsay.” 

“ And  you  go  to  all  the  court  balls,  I suppose,”  inquired  Bessie,  who  having  dis- 
covered that  her  partner  was  a guardsman,  looked  upon  him  as  moving  with  the  elite 
of  the  land. 

“ I enjoy  that  privilege  sometimes  -when  on  duty,”  replied  Charlie,  much  amused. 

“ That  is  one  of  the  sights  I should  like  to  see ; but  unfortunately  there  are  so  many 
things  I want  to  see,  and  apparently  may  want  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.” 

“ I don’t  think  you  need  be  despondent  at  your  age,”  rejoined  Detfield,  laughing, 
“ you’ve  plenty  of  time  before  you.” 

“ Oh,  yes ! and  I’m  not  in  the  least  despondent,”  replied  Bessie,  merrily.  “ I dare  say 
1 shall  have  lots  of  fun,  if  I never  see  half  the  things  I want  to.  Next  to  riding  I love 
dancing,  and  I shall  manage  to  get  my  share  of  those  two  amusements,  at  all  events.” 

“ Do  you  ride  often  then  ? ” 

“ Yes,  nearly  every  day.  There  are  plenty  of  pleasant  rides  out  Hampstead  way, 

and  a good  canter  I do  think  beats  a good  valse.” 

“ Don’t  you  ever  ride  in  the  park  ? ” 

“ Very  seldom.  I have  no  one  to  go  with,  and  it  is  not  nice  riding  there  with  only 
a groom.  People  look  at  you,  as  much  as  to  ask  who  on  earth  you  belong  to.  I tided 
it  twice,  but  don’t  think  I shall  repeat  the  experiment.” 

“ But  isn’t  it  rather  dull  work  riding  alone  ? ” 

“ Oh  dear,  no!  Velvet  — that’s  my  mare  — and  I get  on  capitally  together.  You 
see  there  is  one  advantage,  I can  go  my  own  pace,  — pelt  along  when  I’m  in  spirits,  or 
walk  soberly  when  I want  to  think.  Don’t  you  look  upon  horseback  as  a famous  place 
for  reflection,  Captain  Detfield  ? ” 

“ No,  I can’t  say  I do ; but  then  you  see  my  experiences  are  so  different  from  yours. 
When  I ride  in  town,  it  is  usually  with  other  people,  and  I am  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion. When  I ride  in  the  country,  it  is  usually  to  hounds,  and  then  all  my  energies 
are  absorbed  in  beating  somebody  else,  striving  to  make  up  for  a bad  start,  wondering 
whether  my  horse  will  last  another  ten  minutes,  if  it’s  a cracker,  or  some  equally 
important  problem.  Ah ! you  may  laugh,  Miss  Stanbury,  but  all  the  points  I have 
mentioned  are  subjects  of  stupendous  gravity  to  a man  when  hounds  are  running.” 

“ No,  nothing  more,  thank  you,”  said  Bessie,  as  Charlie  offered  to  replenish  her 
wine-glass.  “ 1 will  ask  you  to  take  me  upstairs  now.  I hear  the  music  again.” 

Detfield  complied,  and  begged  for  another  dance  when  they  regained  the  ball- 
room. The  band  was  playing  that  very  Yalse  de  Fascination  which  Bessie  had 
declared  she  really  must  try  that  afternoon  when  the  idea  of  the  ball  was  first  mooted. 
Without  giving  her  time  to  consult  her  card,  Charlie  whirled  his  fair  companion  into 
^he  midst  of  the  throng.  That  first  after-supper  valse  is  always  the  cream  of  tiho 


The  Ball  at  Roseneath  House. 


75 


evening  to  those  who  really  love  dancing,  and  the  guardsman,  perhaps,  enjoyed  it 
almost  as  much  as  his  partner.  But  Bessie  was  speedily  claimed  when  the  music 
ceased,  and,  as  Detfield  lounged  leisurely  to  a seat,  he  met  Mrs  Paynter. 

“ I don’t  want  to  crush  such  a promising  flirtation  as  you  seem  to  have  established 
with  that  pretty  little  thing  in  forget-me-nots  and  rose-buds ! ” exclaimed  Lizzie, 
laughing ; “ but  if  you  are  disengaged  for  a few  minutes  I’ll  get  you  to  find  John,  and 
tell  him  I am  ready  to  go.  We’ll  take  you  or  not,  just  as  you  please.” 

“ I am  quite  at  your  orders,  and  we’ll  be  off  as  soon  as  I can  find  the  brougham.” 

That  and  Mr.  Paynter  were  quickly  discovered,  and  a few  minutes  more  saw  the 
trio  speeding  rapidly  westward,  immersed  in  their  own  reflections. 

“ Charlie  will  never  be  brought  to  many  that  Miss  Stanbury,”  mused  Mrs.  Paynter. 

“ Rather  nice,  that  little  Stanbury  girl,”  reflected  Charlie. 

“ What  a confounded  nuisance  all  balls  and  evening  parties  are ! ” thought  Mr. 
Paynter,  in  his  semi-moments  of  consciousness.  But  the  gods  were  merciful  to  him, 
poor  man,  in  the  main,  and  he  slept  peacefully  for  the  most  part  during  the  homeward 
drive.  Talk  of  peas  in  the  shoes,  what  is  that  to  the  purgatory  of  tight  boots,  and 
extreme  boredom,  to  the  man  who  is  craving  for  a smoking-jacket,  slippers,  and  a 
cigar  ? Verily,  matrimony  hath  its  burdens,  and  escorting  the  wife  of  one’s  bosom 
into  society  that  pleasureth  us  not  is,  by  no  means,  one  of  the  lightest. 

But,  while  Mrs.  Paynter’s  brougham  rattles  gayly  over  the  stones  of  the  Euston 
road,  while  the  band  pours  out  its  most  spirit-stirring  melodies,  two  gentlemen  are 
engaged  in  earnest  conference  in  the  well-nigh  deserted  supper-room. 

“ I have  put  the  whole  thing  fairly  in  train,”  observed  the  major,  helping  himself  to 
a glass  of  champagne ; “ all  I ask  is  that  you  don’t  interfere,  but  let  me  pull  the 
strings.  The  number  of  marriages  that  come  to  nothing  annually,  because  one  or 
other,  or  both,  of  the  innocent  victims  suddenly  discover  that  they  are  being  thrown 
together  with  intention,  is  inconceivable.” 

“ My  dear  major,  I have  the  most  perfect  reliance  on  your  tact  and  discretion,” 
replied  Roxby,  in  unctuous  tones.  “ What  Claxhy  Jenkens  undertakes  to  do  every 
one  knows  is  as  good  as  done.” 

“Hum!  what  Claxby  Jenkens  undertakes  to  do,  my  friend,  has  generall}  some 
reference  to  his  own  interest.  Let  us  waste  no  time  beating  about  the  bush,  but 
come  to  the  point  at  once.  What  benefit  am  I to  derive  from  this  match  ? ” 

“The  gratification,  my  dear  friend,  of  having  promoted  the  unicn  of  two  young 
people  in  every  way  suitable.  I might  go  further  and  say,  formed,  made  for  one 
another,”  replied  Roxby,  benignantly. 

The  major  grinned.  The  plausible  scoundrel  with  whom  he  was  conversing,  h© 
knew,  even  to  a confederate,  never  altogether  dropped  the  hypocritical  veil  with  which 
he  was  wont  to  gloss  over  his  villanies. 

“ And  what  else  ? ” he  inquired  at  length. 

“ My  dear  Jenkens,”  returned  the  other,  “ my  interest  in  my  charming  ward  is  c$ 
great  that  i.  would  give  five  hundred  pounds  to  see  her  happily  married.” 


76  2 wo  Kisses. 

“ Lodged  to  my  account  at  Herries  & Co.’s,  the  day  before  the  wedding,”  said  the 

major,  laconically. 

« Dear,  dear,  you  will  have  ycur  joke,”  responded  Mr.  Roxby,  as  he  nodded  assent. 

The  major  knew  his  man,  and  knew  that  the  bargain  was  concluded  between  them, 
as  well  as  if  it  had  been  couched  in  more  direct  language.  But  he  wanted  to  know 
more. 

“ And  you,  what  are  you  to  get  out  of  this  affair  l ” he  continued,  looking  his  com- 
panion  steadily  in  the  face. 

“A  release  from  my  trust  in  great  measure,  and  the  approval  of  my  own  con- 
science,” replied  the  other,  with  a low  laugh.  “ Another  glass  of  wine,  my  dear 
friend.  Here’s  the  health  of  the  young  couple.” 

“ That  is  no  answer  to  my  question,”  said  the  major,  doggedly. 

“ If  you  won’t  be  satisfied  with  that,  I can’t  help  it.  But,  hark  you ! ” continued 
Mr.  Itoxby,  with  a sudden  change  of  tone;  “ there  are  plenty  of  young  men  in  the 
world,  besides  Captain  Detfieid,  who  would  be  glad  to  take  a pretty  girl,  with^a  good 
fortune,  to  wife,  and  there  are  plenty  of  other  people,  besides  Claxby  Jenkens,  who 
might  be  induced  to  lend  me  a hand  in  finding  her  a husband.  You  are  clever,  and, 
therefore,  I make  choice  of  you ; but,  my  dear  major,  if  I find  you  too  clever,  I shall 
call  in  somebody  else ; have  fresh  advice,  as  the  doctors  say. 

“ And  suppose  I tell  what  I know  ? ” replied  the  major,  fiercely.  “ Suppose  I make 
public  that  you  wish  to  make  capital  of  your  ward’s  hand  ? ” 

« I couldn’t  entertain  such  an  absurd  supposition  for  a moment,”  rejoined  Mr. 
Roxby,  once  more  relapsing  into  his  usually  bland  moment.  “ Hipping  up  old  stories 
is  always  bad  taste ; and  what  you  and  I might  say  to  each  other’s  discredit  would  be 
pretty  equally  balanced.  No,  my  friend,  you’ll  not  do  that  when  you  think  over  it. 
You’ll  do  your  utmost  to  promote  this  marriage,  I’m  sure ; and  nobody  possesses  such 
tact  and  finesse  for  carrying  out  a delicate  arrangement  of  the  kind  as  my  friend, 
Claxby  Jenkens.  But  it  is  dry  work  talking,  — let’s  have  another  glass  of  wine.  No 
more,  eh  ? Then  let  us  go  upstairs.”  -J 

As  the  major  drove  home  to  his  lodgings,  he  ruminated  much  over  the  events  of  the 
evening.  He  did  not  feel  so  certain  of  having  the  best  of  Mr.  Roxby  as  he  had  done, 
when  thinking  over  the  affair  in  John  street.  That  pull  over  his  neighbor,  such  a desid- 
eratum in  the  major’s  eyes,  was  not  to  be  obtained  in  this  case  apparently.  Still  the 
douceur  was  handsome,  and  the  first  act  of  the  comedy  had  been  most  successfully 
brought  about. 

“ I should  like  to  know  though,”  muttered  the  major,  “ what  Roxty  expects  to  get 
eut  of  this,  and  how  he  means  to  get  it.” 


Will  You  Give  Me  Yourself  t 


77 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WILL  YOU  GIVE  ME  YOURSELF? 


To  suppose  that  Cissy  Hemsworth  is  blind  to  Gore’s  admiration  for  herself  would 
be  absurd,  — a woman  is  never  blind  to  that ; a foolish  woman  will  sometimes  fall  into 
the  opposite  extreme,  and  rate  a man’s  attentions  higher  than  his  intentions  concern- 
ing her,  but  she  rarely  makes  the  mistake  of  overlooking  the  effect  of  her  attractions 
on  the  male  sex.  She  knows  by  instinct  when  she  has  achieved  a success  of  that 
nature.  But  Cissy  was  very  far  from  guessing  what  wild  work  her  charms  had 
wrought  in  the  barrister’s  heart.  She  little  dreamed  of  the  passion  that  he  had  con- 
ceived for  her. 

Reticent  by  nature,  reticent  from  professional  training,  Gore  had  so  far  succeeded 
in  masking  the  tumult  that  filled  his  veins  from  her  notice.  If  Cissy  thought  that  he 
admired  her,  she  certainly  had  never  thought  that  he  was  likely  to  ask  her  to  marry 
him.  Indeed,  considering  that  she  openly  avowed  that  it  was  a necessity  for  her  to 
marry,  it  was  surprising  how  very  little  reflection  she  gave  concerning  it.  Her  per- 
fect nonchalance  on  this  point  was  a source  of  perpetual  astonishment  to  Mrs.  Paynter. 
That  energetic  lady  could  not  understand  it.  Cissy  would  refuse  her  invitations,  even 
when  she  came  to  Hanover  street  herself  with  them,  and  declared  that  she  had  “ some 
one  who  would  be  just  the  thing,”  coming  to  dinner. 

“ I can’t  help  you,  my  dear,  if  you  won’t  help  yourself,”  cried  Mrs.  Paynter, 
wrathfully,  on  one  of  these  occasions.  “ What  is  the  use  of  my  parading  all  the  eligible 
men  I can  lay  hands  on,  if  you  won’t  come  and  meet  them  ?” 

To  which  Cissy  replied : — 

“ Don’t  be  angry,  but  I really  do  not  feel  up  to  going  out  to-day.” 

“ Well,”  mused  Mrs.  Paynter,  as  she  took  her  departure,  under  the  circumstances 
above  mentioned,  “ I don’t  see  what’s  to  become  of  her,  unless  she  pronounces  herself 
ill,  and  then  makes  les  beaux  yeaux  at  her  doctor ; how  she  is  to  arrive  at  a husband  is 
quite  beyond  me.  I would  do  my  best  for  her  if  she  would  but  let  me,  but  she  won’t ; 
and  she  is  so  nice,  and  so  attractive,  that  she  might  really  do  well  if  there’s  any  taste 
left  in  mankind.  Mercenary  wretches ! ” continued  Mrs.  Paynter,  with  a solemn 
shake  of  her  pretty  head,  “ they  always  mix  up  matrimony  with  money  nowadays. 
Dear  old  John  didn’t,  though,  when  he  took  me,  precious  bargain  as  I have  been  to 
him ; ” and  a soft  smile  suffused  her  face,  such  as  not  one  of  her  many  admirers  had 
ever  won  from  her,  plead  as  they  might. 

Montague  Gore,  still  trying  to  disentangle  that  question  of  the  settlement,  for  the 
second  time  has  it  pointed  out  to  him  that  there  is  a family  of  Hemsworths  settled  in 
Nottinghamshire.  Information  this  from  the  chief  constable  of  that  county.  It  ia 
curie  us  ? he  was  told  the  same  quite  incidentally  at  a dinner-party  at  which  he  happened 


78 


Twe  Kisses. 


to  mention  his  quest  in  the  very  first  stage  of  his  inquiries.  He  made  that  trip  down 
to  Nottingham  at  the  time  of  the  Goose  Fair,  on  purpose  to  investigate  that  statement, 
and  he  found  that  there  had  been  Hemsworths  in  the  neighborhood,  but  were  none 
now. 

It  was  odd,  he  had  sent  round  a circular  to  all  the  chief  constables  in  England,  , 
requesting  information  on  the  subject ; and,  save  from  Nottingham,  reply  there  was 
none.  Now  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  Hemsworths  grew  only  in  Nottinghamshire. 

Gore  knew  this  fact  well.  Take  the  most  uncommon  English  name  you  will,  and 
you  shall  discover  it  in  three  or  four  different  counties  in  England.  Pick  out  any 
name,  as  striking  you  as  peculiar,  that  you  have  never  heard  before,  keep  that  name 
in  your  mind,  and  it  is  astonishing  how  often  you  will  meet  it  in  the  next  two  years. 
He  thought  it  singular  that  the  only  county  from  which  he  received  a reply  should 
be  the  only  county  in  which  he  had  ascertained  there  were  no  Hemsworths.  True, 
he  admitted  that  his  search  had  been  but  hurried  and  cursory.  He  had  felt  too  little 
reliance  on  the  accuracy  of  his  information  to  waste  much  time  upon  it.  As  a bar- 
rister, he  should  have  known  better.  The  major  would  never  have  made  such  a 
mistake.  In  pursuing  an  investigation  of  this  nature,  information  can  only  be  classi- 
fied under  two  heads,  — reliable  or  unreliable.  If  deemed  the  former,  too  much  pains 
cannot  be  taken  to  sift  it  thoroughly ; if  the  latter,  put  it  away  completely  at  once. 
Half  measures  are  useless.  Gore  was  too  clever  a man  not  to  know  this,  but  the 
fact  was  he  had  interested  himself  in  lukewarm  fashion  in  the  search  to  start  with. 
Now  it  was  different;  he  was  working  in  Cissy’s  behalf  with  all  the  keenness  and 
perseverance  of  a bloodhound.  He  thinks  it  necessary  to  go  and  sec  her  upon  the 
point.  “ She  may  remember  some  allusion  of  her  late  husband’s  to  that  county,” 
argues  Gore,  speciously,  to  himself. 

When  a man  of  mature  age  falls  in  love  injudiciously,  however  much  he  may 
ponder  over  his  imprudence,  he  is  more  likely  to  end  in  matrimony  than  if  he  were 
still  young.  Ways  and  means  is  a question  that  sometimes  curbs  youthful  passion, 
but  a man  in  his  prime  has  generally  achieved  an  income  of  some  sort,  which  may 
enable  him  to  cany  the  affair  to  a conclusion.  In  Gore’s  case  it  was  decidedly  so. 
He  was  of  inexpensive  habits,  and  making  a large  yearly  income  in  his  profession. 

The  idea  of  marriage  had  seldom  crossed  his  brain  since  the  terrible  catastrophe 
that  had  ruined  his  life.  When  it  had,  it  was  to  marriage  of  the  most  conventional 
kind  that  he  had  looked  forward.  Now,  he  knew  well  that  he  had  cast  that  idea  to 
the  winds.  He  would  fain  wed  a penniless  bride,  of  whese  antecedents  he  could  learn 
nothing,  a woman  of  no  family ; fortunate,  indeed,  if  she  proved  literally  of  no  family, 
and  that  relations  of  the  most  inconvenient  description  should  not  discover  themselves 
afterwards.  Then,  again,  he  was  by  no  means  certain  that  Cissy  would  say  him  yes, 
should  he  put  his  fortune  to  the  test.  Though  she  avowed  her  intention  to  many, 
though  he  knew  that  her  circumstances  made  it  almost  imperative  on  her  to  accept 
the  first  eligible  offer  she  should  receive,  still  there  was  that  about  her  which  made 
him  uncertain  as  to  whether  she  might  not  say  no  to  him.  Cissy  he  could  but  own 


Will  You  Give  Me  Yourself  t 


79 


Was  something  of  an  enigma.  A woman  likely  to  face  desperate  straits  with  the 
Btoicism  of  an  Indian,  or  to  succumb  with  the  passionate  despair  of  a child.  He  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  about  her.  He  would  have  been  in  no  way  surprised  at  her 
taking  the  failure  of  her  scanty  resources  in  either  light.  Her  quiet  confidence  that 
something  would  turn  up  in  her  favor  amazed  him  as  much  as  it  did  Mrs.  Paynter. 
What  could  she  count  on  ? 

Such  reflections  brought  Montague  Gore  to  Hanover  street.  As  his  hostess 
received  him  with  her  usual  frank  manner,  Gore  thought  she  never  looked  so  hand- 
some. Her  bright  face  flashed  and  sparkled  as  he  began  to  tell  of  this  fresh  informa- 
tion, and  she  murmured : — 

“ How  kind  you  are  to  take  so  much  trouble  in  my  behalf!  ” 

As  he  continued,  she  listened  with  evident  interest ; but  when  he  mentioned  Not- 
tinghamshire as  the  probable  county  from  which  her  husband  sprung,  she  gave  an 
unconcealed  start  of  surprise.  From  that  moment,  she  listened  in  an  anxious  and 
yet  preoccupied  manner  that  it  was  impossible  should  escape  his  notice ; interested, 
evidently,  to  hear  what  he  had  to  tell,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  haunted  with  memo- 
ries of  bygone  years. 

“ Ho  you  know  anything  of  Nottinghamshire  yourself  ? ” inquired  Gore,  in  con- 
clusion. 

Cissy  hesitated,  and  appeared  troubled  for  a moment,  as  if  thinking  how  she  should 
frame  her  reply. 

“ 1 am  sorry,”  she  said,  at  length,  “ but  I can  give  you  no  answer  to  that  question. 
It  seems  so  ungrateful,  too,  after  all  the  trouble  you  have  been  taking ; and  it  grieves 
me  dreadfully  you  should  think  me  that.  Why,  oh  why,”  she  continued,  passion- 
ately, “ do  you  not  give  my  affairs  up  ? You  have  been  so  very  kind  to  me ; and  yet, 
when  you  are  doing  your  best,  I have  to  refuse  you  information  wuich,  though  slight 
and  of  little  account,  you  have  a right  to  demand.” 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  Cissy  moved,  and  it  made  his  pulses  tingle. 
The  sight  of  emotion  in  the  woman  we  love  is  wont  to  occasion  tumult  in  the  system. 

“ I am  only  too  glad  to  be  of  assistance  to  you,”  he  replied,  in  constrained  tones. 
“KI  ask  for  information  on  subjects  painful  to  you  to  refer  to,  believe  me  it  is  from 
no  idle  curiosity,  but  simply  because  I think  it  would  be  useful.” 

“ Yes,  I know  it,”  interposed  Cissy,  hurriedly.  “ I should  be  mad  to  think  other- 
wise. But  I have  given  my  word,  as  I told  you  before,  to  keep  silence  on  this  past 
life  of  mine,  and  I will  abide  by  that  pledge.  Don’t,  pray,  think  that  there  is  anything 
I have  cause  to  conceal.  If  the  poor  history  of  my  childhood  were  published  at 
Charing  Cross,  to-morrow,  there  is  nothing  I should  feel  cause  to  blush  for.” 

She  had  spoken  with  much  earnestness,  and  the  color  came  into  her  cheeks  as  she 
finished.  She  knew  this  man  admired  her.  She  knew  that  he  had  taken  infinite  pains 
and  trouble  in  her  behalf.  She  was  thinking  no  whit  of  him  as  a husband  or  lover, 
but  she  was  anxious  to  justify  herself  in  his  eyes  as  far  as  she  might.  She  felt  that 
this  reticence  concerning  her  early  days  told  against  her,  was  liable  t©  be  miscQig 
6 


80 


Two  Kisses. 


strued,  and  she  wished  that  Montague  Gore  should  think  well  of  her.  She  had  sr 
few  friends  that  she  could  not  afford  to  lose  one  lightly,  and  if  she  had  no  love,  ye* 
Cissy  had  great  esteem  for  her  adviser. 

His  reply  came  at  last  in  low  tones,  swift  and  steady : — 

“ It  is  a pity  that  you  should  have  made  such  a promise ; but  I will  not  urge  you  to 
break  it.  I entertain  no  doubt,  whatever,  that  there  is  nothing  in  your  past  would 
shame  you  to  speak  of.  One  thing  I may  say.  Do  you  think  the  person  to  whom 
you  made  that  pledge  would  not  absolve  you  from  it  now  ? The  circumstances  in 
which  you  stand  could  never  have  been  contemplated,  and  I am  only  stating  my 
honest  conviction,  when  I say  that  the  clue  I seek  will  be  probably  found,  if  it  exist, 
in  some  trivial  incident  of  the  past  life  of  yourself  or  your  husband.,, 

“ I cannot  see  that.  What  could  you  hope  to  discover  from  my  early  days  ? ” 
interposed  Cissy. 

“ Simply  this ; if  I knew  with  whom  you  lived  and  associated  in  England,  I should 
very  likely  get  a hint  as  to  who  were  likely  to  be  trustees  to  any  marriage  settlement 
you  might  have, — very  probably  discover  your  father.” 

“ That  is  a conclusive  reason  for  giving  you  no  information  on  the  subject,”  cried 
Cissy,  quickly. 

“ As  I thought,”  murmured  Gore  to  himself.  “ It  is  to  that  father  she  has  pledged 
her  silence.  I wonder  what  his  object  was  in  exacting  that  promise  ? ” and  then  he 
could  not  help  further  reflecting  that  a father  with  private  reasons  for  courting  ob- 
scurity was  not  calculated  to  make  Cissy  more  eligible  as  a wife. 

“ There  is  no  more  to  be  said,  then,”  he  replied,  at  length.  “ I must  work  out  this 
affair  as  best  I can. 

“Yes,  there  is  more  to  be  said,”  exclaimed  Cissy,  with  animation.  “I  have  to 
thank  you  yet  again,  for  devoting  so  much  of  your  time  to  assisting  a woman  who 
must  appear  to  be  throwing  all  the  impediments  she  can  in  your  wa}\  I can’t  help  it. 
I counsel  you  to  give  it  up.  But,  believe  me,  when  I say  I am  truly  grateful  for  all 
you  have  endea^red  to  do  for  me.” 

“ I shall  not  give  it  up.  Keep  your  gratitude,  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  until  I succeed;  I 
may  perchance  test  it  then.  It  is  contrary  to  all  rule,  I know,  and  yet  I might  even 
ask  some  recompense  at  your  hands,  should  I fail;  ” and  he  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  stood 
facing  her. 

“From  me ! ” said  Cissy,  looking  up  at  him.  “I  don’t  know  what  you  could  ask 
from  me,  I have  so  little  to  give.” 

“You  have  that  to  give  which  any  man  would  prize,”  returned  Gore,  in  low, 
earnest  tones,  his  passion  completely  overmastering  him.  “You  know  what  I would 
ask.  There  is  no  need  to  tell  you  that  I love  you.  You  must  have  known  it  these 
weeks  j ast.  Cissy,  will  you  give  me  yourself  ? Can  you  trust  me  to  take  care  of  you 
for  the  rest  of  your  life  ? ” 

BJie  was  a little  astonished.  She  had  not  expected  this,  although  conscious  of  hi* 


Will  You  Give  Me  Yourself  ? 


8) 


admiration.  She  had  never  taken  into  consideration  that  he  might  ask  her  to  marry 
him.  She  liked  him  very  much,  but  she  was  not  the  least  in  love  with  him. 

“You  have  taken  me  by  surprise,”  she  said,  slowly.  “You  offer  me  love  instead 
of  friendship.  Are  you  sure  that  it  is  not  pity  for  my  loneliness  makes  you  speak 

thus  ? ” 

“ I know  that  the  hope  of  calling  you  my  wife  is  the  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  at 
this  moment ! ” he  retorted,  passionately.  “ Cissy,  can  you  love  me  ? ” 

For  a few  seconds  her  face  was  troubled.  Then  she  replied : — 

“ You  won’t  be  angry,  you  won’t  think  badly  of  me  if  I tell  you  the  truth.  I wish 
to  answer  you  honestly,  and  yet  I do  not  wish  to  be  unkind.”  She  paused  here,  and 
toyed  nervously  with  her  rings. 

“ And  my  answer ! ” he  exclaimed,  impatiently.  “ Can  you  love  me  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know.  Stay!”  she  exclaimed,  extending  her  hand  to  him.  “Don’t 
quarrel  with  me,  don’t  be  angry  with  me  because  I tell  you  the  truth.  I do  not  love 
you  — I have  never  loved  any  man.  No  man  has  ever  been  such  a friend  to  me  as 
you ; but  when  you  ask  me  if  I can  love  you,  I can  only  reply,  I don’t  know.” 

He  was  holding  her  hands  in  his  as  she  spoke,  and  when  she  finished,  he  bent  down 
over  her  and  said : — 

“ I will  put  my  request  in  other  words.  Will  you  marry  me  ? ” and  then  he  released 
her  hands,  and  stood  silently  awaiting  her  reply. 

She  bowed  her  head  for  a few  seconds,  then,  raising  it,  looked  frankly  but  stead 
fastly  up  into  his  face,  and  said  quietly : — 

“Yes,  if  you  wish  it.” 

“ My  darling,”  he  replied,  “ I will  be  content  with  that  for  the  present.  It  will  be 
my  business  henceforth  to  teach  you  to  love  me.” 

Cissy  smiled. 

“ I don’t  know,”  she  said,  “ whether  I possess  such  a faculty.  I like  you  and  esteem 
yo\i  veiy  much.  If  you  are  willing  to  take  me,  I will  marry  you ; but  I warn  you,  I 
cannot  simulate  what  I do  not  feel.  Friendship  I can  promise,  — true  and  thorough 
friendship ; but  love,  I do  not  know  whether  I am  capable  of  such  a feeling.  My 
ideal  is  so  very  different  from  what  I have  seen  termed  such,  that  perhaps  it  is  beyond 
my  comprehension.  I am  always  considered  stupid,  you  know.” 

“You  are  quite  wise  enough  forme,”  replied  Gore,  in  jubilant  tones,  “ and  they 
who  deem  you  otherwise  are  those  who  cannot  read  aright.” 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  and  Gore,  having  made  his  adieux,  has  once  more  gained 
the  street.  He  walks  with  head  erect  and  sparkling  eye,  as  men  do  who  have  sped 
well  in  a love-suit.  To  have  won  assent  to  our  wooing  sufficeth  most  of  us  for  the 
time.  Whether  our  passion  be  prudent,  whether  the  woman  we  have  asked  to  tread 
life’s  path  with  us  is  likely  to  be  approved  of  in  our  maturer  judgment,  we  reck  little. 
She  is  the  one  woman  in  the  world,  as  far  as  we  are  concerned  just  now ; and  has 
she  not  pledged  herself  to  be  so  always  ? 

The  plunge  is  over?  and  there  can  be  no  further  debate  about  the  wisdom  of  marry- 


82 


Two  Kisses. 


ing  Cissy  Hemsworth.  The  word  spoken  never  comes  back,  saiththe  proverb;  and 
Montague  Gore  is  light  of  heart  as  he  thinks  that  Cissy  is  his  plighted  wife.  Tine, 
she  has  told  him  that  she  does  not  love  him.  What  of  that  ? It  was  scarce  likely 
that  he  could  have  won  her  love  on  so  short  an  acquaintance.  That  would  come. 
Let  her  but  once  be  his  wife,  and  he  had  no  fear  of  gaining  her  affections. 

As  if  it  is  in  the  power  of  woman  to  bestow  her  affections  exactly  where  she  will. 
A woman  who  marries  without  giving  her  love  is  like  one  who  sails  on  a long  voyage 
with  no  anchor  on  board.  It  may  be  prosperous,  the  winds  fair,  and  the  anchor  never 
required.  But  should  the  winds  prove  contrary,  should  treacherous  currents  sweep 
silently  but  swiftly  towards  the  breakers,  then  they  must  anchoi  be  wrecked. 
When  they  have  nothing  to  hold  to  in  their  extremity,  God  help  them 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A SOCIAL  OBLIGATION. 

Mbs.  Paynteb  sits  dawdling  in  her  drawing-room,  the  morning  after  the  dance  at 
Roseneath  House,  in  that  somewhat  distrait  manner  we  are  wont  to  wear  when  a 
solitary  breakfast  has  succeeded  to  our  night’s  dissipation.  Her  husband  has  departed 
as  usual  to  his  business,  and  Lizzie  is  musing  upon  the  matrimonial  scheme  that  has 
been  confided  to  her.  That  men  many  for  money  nobody  knows  better  than  Mrs. 
Paynter ; but  she  cannot  think  Charlie  will  harden  his  heart,  and  take  that  Miss  Stan- 
bury  to  wife  in  spite  of  all  the  money  he  is  to  get  with  her.  A passable-looking 
woman  enough,  thinks  Mrs.  Paynter,  but  old  enough  to  be  his  mother.  Judging  poor 
Miss  Clementina  rather  hardly  this,  for  that  lady  is  by  no  means  so  advanced  in  years 
as  that  comes  to. 

“Well,”  thought  Mrs.  Paynter,  “if  it  is  for  his  good,  let  it  be  so.  I’ll  interfere 
about  it  neither  way.  I don’t  think  I shall  ever  feel  jealous  of  Miss  Stanbury,  which 
is  a consolation.  And  if  that  odious  major  is  right,  I’m  like  to  lose  an  admirer  in  any 
case,  — -whether  it  be  by  matrimony,  or  the  effects  of  money  troubles.  Poor  Charlie ! 
I am  very  sorry  for  him,  but  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a crash  I have  suspected  for 
some  time.  The  nicest  people  always  are  so  unfortunate ; nobody  ever  dies  oppor- 
tunely and  bequeaths  them  handsome  legacies.  It  is  the  detestable  folks  one  is 
always  meeting  and  wishing  one  didn’t  that  grow  rich  by  inheritance.  Look  at  that 
little  wretch,  Edwrard  Bunbury,  for  instance,  who  exacts  the  very  last  yard  from  a 
cabman,  and  then  gets  out  and  walks  to  save  the  extra  sixpence.  lie’s  as  rich  as 
Croesus  already,  with  no  idea  of  how  to  spend  what  he  has ; yet  a venerable  aunt 
betook  herself  off  the  other  day,  and  left  him  I don’t  know  how  many  more  thousands. 
There  is  something  very  -wrong  in  our  social  arrangements,”  muttered  Mrs.  Paynter, 
eravely ; « though  \ Jop’t  know  that  l ought  to  grumble*  4t  $U  events,  when  we 


A Social  Obligation.  83 

get  our  rights,  whatever  they  may  be,  I don’t  mean  to  vote  for  a new  distribution  of 
property.0 

Here  her  meditations  were  cut  short  by  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  the  announce- 
ment of  Mrs.  Hcmsworth. 

“ Delighted  to  see  you  Cissy,  dear,0  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  as  she  rose  to  welcome 
her  guest.  “I  am ‘ all  in  the  downs ’ this  morning,  as  men  say,  when  they  have  re- 
mained up  over  night  longer  than  is  good  for  them.  You  will  brighten  me  up,  anh 
have  come  to  pass  the  day,  I hope.  Selfish,  of  me,  very,  I know;  but  I plead  guilty 
to  always  entrapping  pleasant  people  when  I have  a chance.” 

“ Yes,  I have  come  for  a long  talk,0  rejoined  Cissy,  a3  she  sank  quietly  into  an  easy- 
chair.  “ To  begin  with,  I have  something  to  tell  you.” 

“ Nothing  disagreeable,  I trust,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter,  quickly.  “ I don’t  feel  equal  to 
bad  news  this  morning.” 

“ No,”  replied  Cissy,  with  a low,  rippling  laugh.  “ It’s  not  bad  news,  and  it’s  not  at 
all  disagreeable.  Likely  to  turn  out  very  much  the  reverse,  I hope.  I am  going  to 
be  married.” 

“You  are ! I am  so  glad ; but  who  to  ? ” cried  Mrs.  Paynter,  breathlessly. 

“ Mr.  Montague  Gore.  He  asked  me  yesterday,  and  I said  yes.” 

“Montague  Gore ! My  dear,  I congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart;  but  how  did  it 
come  about  ? I had  no  idea  you  had  seen  much  of  him  lately.” 

Mrs.  Paynter,  quick  as  she  was  about  such  things  generally,  might  well  be  blind  to 
this.  She  had  no  knowledge  of  the  barrister’s  constant  visits  to  Hanover  street.  She 
had  only  encountered  him  there  twice,  and  then  with  a long  interval  between.  Cissy 
rarely  mentioned  his  name,  and  then  only  as  her  professional  adviser  regarding  some 
property  it  was  thought  she  might  be  entitled  to  in  England. 

Mrs.  Hems  worth  colored  slightly  as  she  answered : — 

“ I have  seen  him  a good  deal  lately,  on  that  business  I told  you  of,  and  though  I 
knew  he  admired  me,  yet  I never  thought  of  his  wishing  to  marry  me  till  yesterday. 
But  I like  him  very  much,  and  I am  so  entirely  alone  that  I can  only  be  grateful  to 
him  for  undertaking  the  care  of  me.  Don’t  laugh,  please ; but,”  continued  Cissy,  with 
a slight  sob,  “ if  you  had  ever  known  what  it  was  to  stand  so  utterly  alone  as  I have 
done  the  last  few  months,  you  would  understand  what  a relief  it  is  to  have  some  one 
you  have  a right  to  lean  upon.” 

“I  do  understand  perfectly,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  gravely,  “and  I have  often 
been  troubled  about  your  future,  Cissy.  But  I think  we  need  fret  about  that  no 
more.  Montague  can  well  afford  to  take  care  of  a wife,  is  a most  agreeable  man,  and 
I have  no  doubt  will  make  you  an  excellent  husband.  Why,”  continued  Mrs.  Paynter, 
recovering  herself,  “ he  was  one  of  the  first  eligibles  I paraded  for  you,  if  you  remem- 
ber ; but  I must  say,  of  late,  I thought  nothing  would  come  of  it.  Why,  you’ll  be  a 
rich  woman  again,  Cissy.  Your  betrothed  is  making  no  end  of  money  in  his  pro- 
fession.” 

“ Shall  I ? ” replied  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  simply ; “ I am  glad  of  that,  fbr  I don’t’ think 


84 


Two  Kisses. 


I should  be  a good  wife  to  a poor  man ; but  I can’t  say  I ever  gave  his  income  a 
thought,  when  I agreed  to  marry  him  yesterday.” 

“ What,  are  you  so  much  in  love  with  him  that  you  could  think  of  nothing  else  ? ” 

rejoined  Mrs  Paynter,  laughing. 

“Iam  not  in  love  with  him  the  least,  and  told  him  so ; but  he  offered  to  take  care  of 
me,  and  I thought  I could  trust  him.” 

Mrs.  Paynter  eyed  her  guest  narrowly.  That  a woman  of  the  world  — as  Cissy 
Hemsworth,  from  her  past  life,  could  not  possibly  help  being  — had  accepted  a husband 
without  considering  whether  he  had  an  income  to  support  her,  was  a little  beyond 
that  lady’s  power  of  believing.  Either  Cissy  was  playing  the  role  of  the  ingenue  with 
a vengeance,  or  was  a simpleton  past  all  understanding. 

“ You  told  him  you  didn’t  love  him  ? ” said  Lizzie  at  last,  speaking  very  slowly, 
and  almost  dropping  out  her  words.  “ I think  I would  have  left  that  out  if  I’d  been 
you.  And  you’d  no  idea  whether  he  was  rich  or  poor  ? ” 

u I told  him  the  truth.  It  is  best  so.  He  has  been  too  true  a friend  not  to  deserve 
that  much  at  my  hands.  I never  thought  about  his  income.  I supposed,  as  he  had 
asked  me  to  marry  him,  that  he  had  enough  for  us  to  live  upon.  No  one  can  know 
better  than  he  that  I have  nothing.” 

Mrs.  Paynter  could  not  understand  this  at  all.  She  was  morally  incapable  of 
understanding  such  a character  as  Cissy’s.  It  was  not  that  her  disposition  was  false, 
but  it  was  soft.  Driven  to  bay,  and  Lizzie  would  have  displayed  plenty  of  hardihood ; 
but  she  detested  unpleasantness,  she  always  glossed  over  disagreeable  facts.  She 
would  not  actually  lie,  but  she  would  undoubtedly  distort  circumstances  that  she 
deemed  might  be  unpalatable  to  her  hearers.  When  she  confessed  her  sins  to  her 
husband,  which  she  never  did  till  necessity  compelled,  it  was  only  by  hint  and  innuendo 
extending  over  two  or  three  days,  mingled  with  penitent  self-accusation,  in  a queer, 
bewitching  fashion  all  her  own.  To  tell  an  admirer  that  she  didn’t  care  about  him 
would  have  seemed  to  Lizzie  needless  brutality. 

“ He  can’t  help  it,  you  know,”  she  would  say,  with  the  most  perfect  naivett  ; u so  why 
ill-treat  him  ? ” But  to  tell  the  man  "that  you  were  about  to  marry  that  you  didn’t  love 
him,  was  in  her  eyes  extremely  foolish.  It  had  a savage  candor  about  it,  repugnant  to 
Lizzie’s  caressing  nature.  There  was  a vein  of  truthfulness  and  chivalry  in  Mrs. 
Hemsworth  that  she  could  hardly  understand.  Lizzie  would  stand  by  her  friends 
stanchly  enough  in  difficulties,  but  it  must  be  in  her  own  indirect  fashion.  She  had 
hardly  moral  fibre  sufficient  to  face  the  world  boldly  in  their  behalf.  With  all  her 
audacity  and  Bohemianism,  Mrs.  Paynter  did  respect  the  world’s  opinion.  She  rather 
liked  astonishing  society,  nay,  even  shocking  it  in  her  proceedings ; but  she  was 
specially  careful  not  to  go  too  far.  Flirt  she  would,  flirt  she  did,  but  she  contrived  to 
avoid  that  scandal  should  thoroughly  fasten  on  her.  She  might  be  talked  about ; but 
she  took  heed  that  no  sentence  of  ostracism  should  be  promulgated  concerning 
her,  though  her  passion  for  intrigue  had  more  than  once  led  her  into  grievoufl 
difficulties. 


A Social  Obligation, 


85 


Whether  Cissy  is  deep  past  all  conception,  or  innocent  to  an  extent  unheard  of, 
puzzles  Mrs.  Paynter  not  a little,  as  she  asks  quietly,  “ And  when  is  the  wedding  to 
take  place  ? ” 

“ Very  sog^.”  replied  the  widow,  shading  her  fair  face  from  the  firelight.  “ Mon- 
tague wishes  it  should  be  so,  and  I think,  too,  it  would  be  best.  I am  weaiy  of  fight- 
ing the  world  alone,  and  there  is  no  reason  for  delay,  unless  he  sees  such.  You  will, 
perhaps,  think  I ought  not  to  many  before  my  year’s  widowhood  is  out ; but  then  I arc 
peculiarly  situated,  remember.” 

“ I think  you  have  no  one  to  take  care  of  you  at  present,  and  the  sooner  you  have 
the  better,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  promptly.  “But  here  is  luncheon;  come  along, 
Cissy,  and  get  something  to  eat,  and  give  me  the  opportunity  of  drinking  your 

Health.” 

When  Mrs.  Paynter,  at  dinner,  confided  to  her  husband  the  information  she  had 
received,  that  gentleman  received  it  with  much  astonishment. 

“ I never  thought  Gore  would  ever  marry,”  he  said ; “ and,  if  he  did,  I should 
have  thought  Mrs.  Hemsworth  the  last  person  he  would  have  chosen  for  a wife.  I 
have  nothing  to  say  against  your  friend,  Lizzie,  — she’s  charming ; but  I don’t  think 
she’s  suited  to  him.  Of  course,  it’s  a good  thing  for  her,  and  I hope  it  will  turn  out 
happily.  But  — ” 

“ None  of  your  buts,  sir,”  replied  his  wife.  “ Of  course  it  will  turn  out  well. 
Why  shouldn’t  it,  I should  like  to  know  ? ” 

“ Well,  I’ve  an  idea  that  Mrs.  Hemsworth  has  no  conception  about  managing  a 
house,  except  in  rather  princely  fashion.  Gore  is  making  a good  income,  no  doubt; 
but  one  that  a woman  with  extravagant  views,  like  yourself,  for  instance,  could  soon 
knock  holes  in.” 

“I  am  sure  I’ve  been  very  good  lately,”  retorted  Lizzie,  resenting  the  hit  at 
herself  with  great  promptitude.  “I  haven’t  come  to  you  for  extra  money  thia 
quarter.” 

“ My  telling  you  it  wasn’t  to  be  had  may  have  something  to  do  with  that,”  rejoined 
her  husband,  laughing.  “ However,  never  mind,,!  am  very  likely  all  wrong,  and  no 
one  can  wish  them  happiness  more  sincerely  than  I do.” 

“They  will  do  veiy  well,  you  will  see;  but,  John  dear,  you  know  this  will  cause 
considerable  expense  to  mef  and  therefore  I shall  have  to  come  to  you  before  long.” 

“ Why,  what  on  earth  has  Cissy  Hemsworth’s  wedding  to  do  with  your  expenses  ? ” 
inquired  John  Paynter,  brusquely.  He  was  a most  indulgent  and  liberal  husband ; 
but  Lizzie  sometimes  tried  him  hard  on  this  point.  No  matter  what  amount  her 
purse  was  furnished  with,  Mrs.  Paynter  was  one  of  those  women  who  are  always  in 
difficulties  about  money  matters. 

“ Why,  you  dear  old  goose,  don’t  you  see  I must  have  a new  dress  for  the  wedding  ? 
And  then,  of  course,  I must  make  Cissy  a wedding  present,  and  you  wouldn’t  like  me 
to  do  that  shabbily,  I am  sure.” 

* O Lord ! ” returned  John  Paynter,  “ I didn’t  know,  when  I wished  her  happi- 


86 


Two  Kisses. 


ness,  that  I was  to  pay  for  it,  besides.  I shall  preach  celibacy  to  all  our  friends,  out 
of  due  regard  for  my  own  pocket,  in  future.  But  you  shall  have  something  to  buy 
them  a present  with,  little  woman ; and,  you’re  right,  I should  like  it  to  be  good 
As  for  a dress,  — ridiculous ; you’ve  plenty.  Go  in  any  of  them.  I’ll  find  no  money 

for  that.” 

“ But  you  must,”  cried  Lizzie,  laughing.  “ Your  wife  attend  her  friend’s  wedding 
in  an  old  gown  ? My  dear  John,  you’d  be  hooted  out  of  all  society.  It  would 
come  under  the  head  of  cruelty,  and  entitle  me  to  separate  maintenance,  at  the  very 
least,  sir.” 

“ Ah ! you’d  find  separate  maintenance  difficult  to  get  along  on,  Lizzie,  however  high 
it  were  rated.  But  I’m  froze  for  a cigar.  If  you’re  not  going  out  to-night,  let’s  have 
coffee  in  the  smoking-room.” 

Mrs.  Paynter  smiled  assent.  When  she  received  special  invitation  to  that  sanctuary, 
she  knew  her  ends  were  achieved. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

▲ QUIET  WEDDING. 

At  last  the  major  has  received  the  intelligence  so  anxiously  awaited  these  weeks 
past.  His  Parisian  correspondent,  M.  Rayner,  was  a man  not  easily  baffled ; but  he 
was  utterly  nonplussed  in  the  first  instance.  He  had  expected  little  trouble  in  ascer- 
taining Mrs.  Hemsworth’s  London  address.  Some  of  her  friends  were  doubtless 
acquainted  with  it,  — probably  corresponded  with  her.  But  when  he  came  to  make 
inquiries,  it  appeared  that  none,  even  of  those  she  was  supposed  to  be  most  intimate 
with,  were  even  aware  that  she  had  left  for  England.  Some  would  have  it  that  she 
was  still  in  Paris ; others  that  she  had  taken  a small  house  at  Versailles.  In  shoH,  he 
already  knew  more  than  any  one  else  concerning  her.  It  piqued  him.  He  was  a 
man  who  prided  himself  on  never  being  beat  about  the  unravelling  of  a mystery. 
Still,  this  certainly  did  seem  a hard  nut  to  crack,  that  his  old  friend  Jenkens  had  given 
him,  — to  ascertain  the  whereabouts  of  a woman  in  London,  from  inquiries  prosecuted 
in  Paris.  M.  Rayner  ruminated  a good  deal  over  this  problem. 

One  evening,  while  smoking  his  cigar,  sipping  his  coffee,  and  musing  over  it  for  at 
least  the  hundredth  time,  he  had  an  inspiration,  — one  of  those  flashes  that  constitute 
high  detective  art,  or  acute  analysis  of  character.  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  he  argued,  was 
rather  celebrated  for  her  sneers  de  toilette . A woman  who  has  achieved  fame  in  that 
respect  will  never  abandon  the  foible  of  being  well-dressed.  A Parisian  will  never 
be  satisfied  with  an  English  modiste ; sooner  or  later  she  will  send  to  the  artiste  she 
employed  here.  There  is  only  to  discover  that  artiste,  which  is  simple,  and,  pov/> 
it  is  a question  of  time. 


87 


A Quiet  Wedding. 

To  discover  the  modiste  that  the  fashionable  Madame  Hemswortl  had  employed 
was,  of  course,  a very  easy  matter.  Some  weeks  elapsed,  and  then  a note  from  the 
lady  in  question  informs  Mr.  Rayner  that  she  has  received  an  orde/  from  her  old 
customer,  and  that  when  completed  it  is  to  be  forwarded  to  No.  — Hanover  street, 
Hanover  square,  London,  W.  M.  Rayner  sends  off  this  information  to  xVtajor  Jenkens 
in  his  airy,  swaggering  manner. 

“ Anything  more  that  I can  do  for  you,  mon  cher , major  ? ” he  asks ; u the  amateur 
detective  is  a favorite  role  of  mine ; command  me,  if  you  seek  knowledge  about  any 
one.  I will  back  myself  to  ascertain  anything  for  you,  with  this  exception,  namely, 
how  many  weeks  our  present  government  will  last,  and  who  will  succeed  M.  le 
Marechal.” 

The  major  smiles  as  he  peruses  this  letter.  It  astonishes  the  veteran  intriguer 
little  to  find  that  the  lady  he  sought  is  living  within  a mile  of  his  offices.  His  experi- 
ence teaches  him  that  the  clue  to  most  information  you  require  is  usually  very  close 
to  your  hand,  if  you  did  but  know  where  to  look  for  it.  Curious  that  Montague  Gore, 
also  seeking  information,  should  be  similarly  impressed  with  the  idea  that  the  key  to 
his  mystery  of  “ the  settlement  ” is  not  far  off,  though  he  has  no  conce>don  of  its 
whereabouts.  Then,  again,  the  major  always  had  held  that  Cissy  was  in  London,  and, 
that  being  the  case,  there  was  nothing  surprising  about  the  locality  * a which  he 
found  her. 

Claxby  Jenkens  is  very  busy  about  the  little  pigeon-holes  in  his  desk  this  morning. 
He  unties  more  than  one  neatly  docketed  little  packet,  reads,  and  ponders  over  its 
contents.  There  are  one  or  two  things  not  working  altogether  to  the  major’s  satis- 
faction. That  his  dear  friend  Roxby  is  so  utterly  beyond  his  control  troubles  him 
not  a little.  He  had  so  made  up  his  mind  to  have  just  a trifle  the  best  of  him  upon 
this  occasion,  and  behold  the  crafty  Roxby  seems  less  within  his  grip  than  ever; 
has  given  him,  indeed,  pretty  frankly  to  understand  that,  unless  he  submits  to  play 
the  subordinate  part  assigned  to  him  in  this  matrimonial  speculation,  his  services  will 
be  dispensed  with.  To  a man  like  the  major,  accustomed  to  be  the  ^prime  mover  in 
all  such  mysterious  transactions  as  he  may  engage  in,  this  itself  is  galling.  We  do 
not  like  to  descend  to  Cassius  after  having  been  wont  to  play  lago.  The  major  is  as 
thoroughly  addicted  to  intrigue  as  Mrs.  Raynter  to  flirtation.  It  is  open  to  question 
whether  a hundred  pounds  acquired  by  legitimate  means  would  have  had  the  same 
value  in  his  eyes  as  a less  sum  obtained  by  very  dubious  finesse.  The  major  was  at 
heart  a social  marauder,  and  despised  the  legitimate  trader  with  all  the  scorn  of  the 
buccaneers  of  days  lang  syne. 

Another  thing  that  moves  his  wrath  is  that  one  of  his  puppets  in  this  approaching 
drama  shows  signs  of  much  contumacy.  Charlie  Detfield  has  written  a curt  refusal 
to  dine  with  Mr.  Roxby,  — a dinner  designed  by  the  conspirators  to  throw  him  once 
more  across  Bessie  Stanbury ; and  that  a man  so  entirely  in  the  hands  of  his  creditors 
should  presume  to  thwart  their  endeavors  to  obtain  their  own  again  is  most  grievous 
Insubordination  in  the  major’s  eyes. 


88 


Two  Kisses. 


" 1 take  measures  for  the  young  sinner’s  relief,  and  he  has  the  audacity  to  throw 
obstacles  in  the  way,”  murmurs  the  major,  softly.  “It  is  always  the  case  whenever 
you  try  to  do  good  to  your  fellow-creatures ; they  always  meet  your  exertions  with 
the  grossest  ingratitude.  Our  pauper  population  are  never  satisfied  with  those  insti- 
tutions which  a paternal  government  has  organized  for  their  reception,  turn  up  their 
noses  at  the  porridge  provided  for  them,  and  make  outcry  at  being  separated  from 
the  wives  of  their  bosom ; and  here  is  an  aristocratic  pauper  showing  equal  ingrati- 
tude, refusing  the  baked  meats  we  would  serve  up  to  him,  and  declining  to  take  a 
wife  to  his  bosom.  Does  he  think  property  is  acquired  without  some  incumbrances  ? 
To  be  sure  lie  is  not  altogether  in  the  secret  as  yet.  I have  been  fool  enough  to  trust 
to  nature  as  a confederate ; as  if  people  ever  did  fall  in  love,  where  it  was  clearly  their 
duty  to  do  so.  No,  I’ll  have  recourse  to  human  agency  again.  Nature  is  a prepos- 
terous imposition,  that  requires  to  be  curbed,  that  stimulates  people  to  all  kinds  of 
imprudences,  that  rarely  suggests  scientific  selection  in  marriage,  and  may  be  gen- 
erally considered  as  an  antediluvian  humbug.  Nature,  in  Detfield’s  case,  has 
apparently  suggested  getting  your  living  by  bills.  Captain  Detfield,  it  is  time  you 
were  made  to  feel  the  bit  a little.  I shall  just  drop  Simmonds  a line  to  hint  that  he 
had  best  press  for  a settlement.” 

That  little  transaction  neatly  executed  in  the  major’s  clear,  precise  caligraphy,  and 
that  gentleman,  after  some  further  reference  to  his  pigeon-holes,  thinks  he  will  walk 
up  to  Hanover  street,  and  make  a few  inquiries  concerning  Mrs.  Hemsworth;  see 
her,  perhaps,  if  it  seems  judicious ; will  be  guided  a little  by  circumstances  on  that 
point,  thinks  the  major. 

A few  final  directions  to  his  clerk,  and  then  the  major  carefully  adjusts  his  hat, 
draws  on  his  gloves,  grasps  a good,  serviceable  umbrella,  and  sallies  forth,  — a well- 
preserved,  middle-aged  gentleman,  of  military  bearing,  but  yet  with  a dash  of  the  city 
about  him ; chairman  or  director  of  half-a-dozen  companies  now,  you  would  not  be 
surprised  to  hear,  though  an  officer  in  Her  Majesty’s  service  in  his  younger  days. 
Head  erect,  glaring  sternly  through  his  spectacles,  and  handling  his  umbrella  as  if  it 
usurped  the  place  of  the  accustomed  bamboo,  the  major  strides  up  Regent  street.  It 
is  not  often  that  he  leaves  that  web  of  his  in  John  street,  where,  like  a dropsical 
spider,  he  sits  awaiting  the  flies,  so  early ; but  he  has  his  reasons.  He  is  interested 
concerning  Mrs.  Hemsworth,  and  wishes  to  know  as  much  about  her  as  he  can.  St. 
Martin’s  Church  clanged  hali-past  eleven  as  he  went  past  the  portico ; and,  though 
the  major’s  gait  has  a touch  of  military  deliberation,  yet  there  is  grafted  on  it  the 
city  man’s  restless  activity.  Claxby  Jenkens  combined  swiftness  and  dignity  in  his 
footsteps,  and  was  not  long  before  he  turned  into  Hanover  street,  and  knocked  at  No. 
— with  that  imposing  air  of  authority  habitual  to  him. 

There  was  considerable  delay  in  responding  to  his  summons.  In  fact  the  major  had 
appealed  to  the  knocker  in  still  more  authoritative  fashion  more  than  once,  before  the 
door  was  opened  by  a young  woman,  in  a state  of  fluster,  giggle,  and  white  rosettes, 
who  exclaimed,  upon  seeing  him : — 


A Quiet  Wedding. 


89 


a Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I was  so  busy  I dfdn’t  hear  you  before.” 

“ Mrs.  Hemsworth  lives  here,  I believe  ? ” inquired  the  major. 

“ Yes,  sir;  at  least,  that  is  to  say  — I mean,  of  course  she  does,”  replied  the  waiting* 
maid,  with  further  accession  of  giggle,  accompanied  by  confusion. 

“ Is  she  at  home  ? ” 

But  this  interrogation  seemed  altogether  too  much  for  the  damsel ; and  it  was  only 
with  much  smirking  and  blushing  that  she  blurted  forth  at  length : — 

“ La,  sir ! don’t  you  know  ? She’s  gone  to  St.  George’s.” 

“St.  George’s!”  replied  the  major,  blankly.  “St.  George’s  what  — hospital? 
What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ No,  sir ; oh,  dear,  no ! ” and  here  the  young  lady’s  risible  faculties  were  so 
exquisitely  tickled  at  the  idea  of  the  hospital,  that  she  was  unable  to  make  further 

response. 

\ “ Confound  the  girl ! ” muttered  the  major  to  himself.  “ When  will  the  grinning 
idteLstqp  laughing  ? Excuse  me,”  he  said,  blandly,  “ I have  not  met  Mrs.  Hemsworth 
for  many  years.  Where  is  she  gone  ? ” 

“ I beg  pardon,  sir,  but  it  did  sound  so  absurd.  Hospital ! Ob,  dear,  I thought 
you  were  joking.  Missus  has  gone  to  St.  George’s  Church.  She’s  being  married 
this  morning.” 

“ How  long  has  she  been  gone  ? ” asked  the  major,  sharply. 

' “ About  ten  minutes,  sir.” 

Claxby  Jenkens  twisted  sharp  on  his  heel,  without  another  word,  and  made  the  best 
of  his  way  to  St.  George’s.  He  entered  the  church,  and  walked  quietly  up  the  aisle. 
He  could  see  there  was  a group  in  front  of  the  altar  as  he  did  so.  When  he  came 
near,  he  stepped  into  a pew  and  gazed  attentively  at  the  scene  before  him.  Clad  in 
rich  white  silk,  and  bonnet  to  match,  he  recognized  Cissy  Hemsworth  at  once.  A 
little  behind  her  stood  Mrs.  Paynter.  Of  the  half-score  people  present,  these  were  all 
he  recognized. 

The  officiating  clergyman  was  in  the  middle  of  the  marriage  service.  The  major 
listened  to  it  at  first  somewhat  lazily.  He  had  never  thought  of  this.  But  he  leaned 
forward  eagerly  as  there  smote  upon  his  ears  the  words : — 

“ Wilt  thou  have  this  man  to  be  thy  wedded  husband,  to  live  together  after  God’s 
ordinance,  in  the  holy  estate  of  matrimony  ? ” and  heard  Cissy  reply  in  clear,  reso- 
lute tones,  “ I will.” 

A few  seconds  more,  and  he  heard  the  bridegroom  recite  in  dull,  monotonous 

fashion : — 

“ I,  Montague,  take  thee,  Cecilia,  to  be  my  wedded  wife,  to  have  and  to  hold  from 
this  day  forward,  for  better  or  worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health, 
to  love  and  to  cherish,  till  death  us  do  part,  etc.” 

“ Montague ! ” muttered  the  major,  “ I shall  remember  that  name,  I think ; but  still  it 
is  well  to  be  business  like ; ” and,  producing  a memorandum-book,  he  made  a brief 
entry  of  the  marriage,  names,  date,  etc.  That  done,  and  he  watched  the  conclusion 


9 0 


Two  Kisses. 


of  the  ceremony  with  the  cool,  criticaT  eye  of  a connoisseur;  did  such  recognition  to 
Mrs.  Paynter’s  tasteful  toilet  as  would  have  much  gratified  that  rather  mortified 
lady,  had  she  but  known  it.  For  Lizzie  was  really  quite  put  out  at  the  exceeding 
quietness  of  the  wedding. 

“ When  she  said  it  was  to  be  a very  quiet  affair,”  whispered  Mrs.  Paynter  to  her 
husband,  “ I could  not  possibly  understand  that  it  was  to  be  clandestine,  you  know. 
It  is  ridiculous  their  getting  married  as  if  they  were  ashamed  of  it.  I wonder  they 
didn’t  go  to  a registry  office.” 

“ Yes,  it  is  a pity  that  we  weren’t  better  informed.  You  might  have  saved  the 
expense  of  that  new  dress,  for  instance,”  retorted  Mr.  Paynter,  with  a quaint  twinkle 
in  his  eyes. 

“ Oh,  a good  dress  is  never  thrown  away,”  rejoined  his  wife,  smiling.  “ Of  course, 
it*s  a disappointment  that  there  is  no  one  to  see  its  dibut , but  it  will  come  in  useful.” 

Gore  had  pleaded  for  no  fuss,  and  Cissy  had  wisely  replied  that  she,  too,  wished  a 
quiet  wedding,  albeit  she  felt  it  incumbent  to  send  to  Madame  Helders  of  the  Hue  de 
la  Paix,  Paris,  for  her  wedding-robes,  due  to  which  circumstance  was  Major  Jenkens’ 
attendance  at  her  bridal. 

The  benediction  is  spoken,  the  registry  signed,  and  Cissy  having  received  the  con- 
gratulations of  the  Paynters,  Fox  Brine,  and  the  half-dozen  other  people  who  had 
been  present  at  the  ceremony,  walks  down  the  aisle  leaning  on  her  husband’s  arm. 
A rather  solemn  breakfast  in  Hanover  street,  and  then  a carriage  bears  away  the 
newly  married  couple  en  route  for  Brighton.  One  of  the  wedding  party  lingered 
behind  in  the  church,  — it  was  the  unbidden  major.  No  sooner  had  the  remainder 
crossed  the  door-sill,  than  issuing  from  his  pew  he  made  his  way  rapidly  to  the 
vestry.  The  clergyman  was  already  gone,  but  the  clerk  still  lingered  and  willingly 
allowed  him  to  inspect  the  register. 

*•  Montague  Gore,  Ilarc  Court,  Temple,”  said  the  major,  as  he  once  more  had  re- 
course to  his  memorandum-book.  “ Oh,  well,  there  will  be  very  little  difficulty,  I 
imagine,  in  finding  out  all  about  him ; but  this  marriage  may  make  a considerable 
difference  in  my  plans ; I must  think  — I must  inquire.  I would  have  given  a thou 
sand  pounds  to  have  known  of  this  a month  ago.” 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

ON  A BICYCLE. 

It  took  Roseneath  House  almost  a week  to  settle  down  after  that  momentous  event, 
— the  ball.  When  your  lot  is  cast  where  the  stream  runs  strong,  and  you  are  per- 
petually battling  with  the  waters,  you  can  form  no  conception  how  little  will  create  a 
turmoil  in  the  still  pools  of  existence.  As  Aunt  Clem  said.  “ after  the  last  wreath. 


91 


On  a Bicycle. 

■he  last  sconce  had  been  removed  from  the  walls,  the  house  still  savored  of  dissipa- 
•ion  ” The  maids,  too,  seemed  bitten  with  the  “ Valse  de  Fascination,  and  hummed 
it  over  their  daily  labors  in  a manner  that  scandalized  a domestic  martinet  like  Miss 
SL  grossly.  The  knocker  also  seemed  “always  on  the  rap,”  as  the  same  lady 
^maitol  “What  with  peoole  fetching  away  things  I had  no  idea  we  had  ever 
borc  ovred,'  and  receiving  calls  and  cards  from  people  I never  heard  of  before,  a nap 

before  dinner  has  become  a luxury  of  the  past.  , . 

But  these  cards  and  visits  were  a source  of  considerable  amusement  and  speculation 
to  Bessie  and  Aunt  Clem.  That  close  upon  the  moiety  °f  the  gue^s  sh°u 
strangers  to  their  hostess  is  not  remarkable  at  a first  dance  m London.  As  Bessie 
had  s°aid,  they  would  have  been  sore  put  to  it  to  find  dancing  men  a^e“ 
dancing  women,  without  extraneous  assistance.  It  was  the  puzzling 
who  that  afforded  such  fun  to  Bessie  and  Aunt  Clem. 

They  were  very  curious  to  see  that  handsome  Mrs.  Paynter  again,  though  how  she 

doomed  to  disappointment.  Mrs.  Paynter  left  cards  without  asking  to  be  let  in. 
Very  problematical,  indeed,  whether  her  carnage  contained  Mrs.  Paynter  upon  that 
occasion.  Captain  Detfield,  too,  had  called  and  stopped  for  five-o  clock  tea,  and  both 
ladies  were  highly  interested  in  his  visit.  He  had  danced  with  both  of  them,  and  his 
easy  liriit-liearted  talk  had  made  a favorable  impression.  Moreover,  a guardsman  M 
a lira  Iris  in  Islington  circles,  and  Bessie’s  immediate  intimates  had  manifested  much 
curiosity  concerning  him,  both  at  the  ball  and  since.  That  young 
means  insensible  to  the  Mat  attending  such  an  acquaintance,  and  disposed  to  keep 

up,  should  opportunity  be  forthcoming.  . ..  « 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Bessie  had  conceived  any  particular  admiration  for 
Detfield  She  was  very  young,  and  her  knowledge  of  men  and  the  woild,  so  fa  , 
Very  limited ; but  she  did  perceive  that  Detfield  was  of  a different  class  from  those  she 
had  at  present  met.  His  quiet,  easy,  polished  manner  contrasted  considerably  with 
that  of  the  few  young  men  she  knew.  The  self-contained  bearing,  the  habiturf 
repose  of  one  who  mixes  in  good  society,  invariably  displays  a striking  dissimilarity  to 
those  who,  immersed  in  the  business  of  life,  have  no  such- opportunities.  Women 
note  these  things  keenly;  especially  do  they  regard  the  carriage  of  those  whom  they 
believe  to  mingle  in  circles  above  their  own.  This  is  why  Mrs.  Paynter  and  Detfield 
were  objects  of  interest  to  Bessie  and  Aunt  Clem.  As  for  Miss  Matilda,  she  had  take 
no  recognition  of  them.  The  giving  of  a ball  had  absorbed  all  her  faculties.  Tha 
the  ball  had  been  a success  had  swallowed  up  all  minor  details  concerning  1 . 
the  consequences  of  the  ball  seemed  never-ending,  as  regarded  cafiers  and  the 
humming  of  the  “ Valse  de  Fascination  ” by  her  maids,  had  produced  a bilious  imta 
bility  of  temperament  in  Miss  Matilda,  which  imparted  a crispness  to  hfe  atEoseneath 
Ilouse  not  altogether  pleasant  to  the  dwellers  beneath  its  roof. 

Miss  Matilda  declared  vehemently  she  would  never  hear  of  such  a thing  taking 
again;  that  shews  a foolish  old  woman  to  have  ew  flowed  herself  to  ^ 


Two  Kisses. 


92 

cajoled  — very  fond  of  this  world  just  now  is  Miss  Matilda  — into  such  nonsense  by  a 
chit  of  a child  just  loose  from  a boarding-school,  backed  up,  too,  by  one  who  ought 
to  have  known  better.  And  here  Miss  Matilda  would  glance  reproachfully  at  her 
sister.  Still,  when  the  knocker  had  been  moderately  quiet,  and  Miss  Matilda  had 
leisure  to  read  peacefully,  as  she  expressed  it,  which  meant  indulge  in  her  usual 
afternoon  nap,  then  over  a cup  of  tea  the  good  lady  would  laugh  and  chat  with  her 
niece  and  Aunt  Clem,  and  revel  in  recapitulating  the  triumphs  of  the  evening,  till  an 
arch  demand  from  Bessie  as  to  when  the  next  was  to  take  place,  would  once  more 
remind  her  that  she  had  set  her  face  against  all  such  nonsense  for  the  future. 

But  the  ball  had  produced  one  result  which  had  been  barely  foreseen  by  the  ladies 
of  Roseneath  House.  It  had  shown  to  the  neighborhood,  and  also  to  people  some- 
what beyond  the  immediate  neighborhood,  that  the  Misses  Stanbury  entertained,  and 
that  very  handsomely ; also  that  there  was  a young  Miss  Stanbury  who  was  a very 
pretty  girl ; and,  further,  it  was  whispered  about  that  Miss  Bessie  Stanbury  was  a 
young  lady  with  gold  galore  and  cash  in  the  bank,  — an  heiress,  in  short ; though 
from  whom  or  how  she  inherited  her  riches  was  not  quite  so  clear.  But  still,  two 
ladies  who  gave  balls,  — Miss  Matilda’s  determination  luckily  not  being  made  known 
to  the  public,  — and  who  had  a pretty  niece  with  a fortune,  were  decidedly  worth 
cultivating. 

Tiro  Misses  Stanbury  found  themselves  suddenly  inundated  with  invitations. 
Bessie,  under  the  chaperonage  of  Aunt  Clem,  took  to  going  out  a good  deal.  Miss 
Matilda,  pronouncing  them  a couple  of  fools,  stayed  at  home  with  her  book  for  the 
most  part,  but  showed  considerable  interest  in  the  history  of  their  proceedings  the 
next  morning  all  the  same. 

Bessie  speculated  at  times  as  to  whether  she  should  come  across  Detfield  on  these 
occasions.  It  was  very  natural ; no  more  than  a girl  wondering  whether  she  shall 
meet  a favorite  partner,  and  girls  are  accustomed  to  indulge  in  such  reflections  with 
out  their  feelings  being  at  all  interested.  We  all  muse  a little  upon  whom  we  are  likely 
to  meet  when  we  contemplate  going  into  society,  and  calculate  whom  it  may  be  our 
lot  to  be  paired  off  with  at  dinner  now  and  again  with  no  little  anxiety.  You  may  do 
pretty  well  what  you  like  in  a ball-room,  but  at  a dinner-party  you  are  the  slave  of 
your  hostess.  It  is  in  her  power  to  make  the  next  two  hours  those  of  pleasure  or 
boredom ; no  manoeuvring  on  your  part  can  avert  her  decree.  If  rank  has  its  advan- 
tages it  certainly  also  has  its  drawbacks ; and  there  are  occasions  when  the  possession 
of  a coronet  is  fraught  with  inconvenience  to  the  wearer.  Bessie,  for  instance,  would 
be  a pleasanter  companion  than  deaf  old  Lady  Slowborough ; but  noblesse  oblige , and 
young  Lord  Martello,  however  he  may  deprecate  the  arrangement,  finds  himself 
compelled  by  the  laws  of  society  to  take  charge  of  that  venerable  and  by  no  means 
amusing  old  peeress  under  such  circumstances. 

Still  Bessie  troubles  her  head  very  little  about  Captain  Detfield.  She  had  thought 
him  nice,  that  he  waltzed  to  perfection,  that  he  was  amusing.  She  would  rather  have 
liked  to  come  across  him  again.  Not  at  all  insensible  was  Bessie  to  the  distinction  of 


On  a Bicycle. 


93 


haring  such  a cavalier  in  her  train,  but  she  had  built  up  no  romance  concerning  him,  as 
girls  sometimes  do  about  a man  they  have  met  in  this  way.  Bessie  took  the  world  as 
it  came,  and  enjoyed  herself  as  one  only  does  at  eighteen. 

Cantering  briskly  home  from  a long  scamper  over  Hampstead  Heath  one  February 
afternoon,  Velvet  gives  a tremendous  start,  rather  shaking  her  young  mistress,  quite 
unprepared  for  such  a misdemeanor  on  the  part  of  her  favorite,  in  the  saddle.  As 
Bessie  recovers  herself  she  looks  round  to  see  what  has  frightened  her  mare.  The 
light  is  failing  rapidly,  but  she  speedily  makes  out  a man  seated  by  the  roadside  with 
a machine  of  some  kind  by  his  side ; almost  as  she  catches  sight  of  him  he  springs  to 
his  feet,  and,  slightly  raising  his  hat,  regrets  to  have  been  the  involuntary  cause  of  her 
horse’s  misbehavior. 

“ Can  he  be  of  any  use  ? ” and  as  he  asks  the  question  he  pats  the  mare’s  neck,  and 
leads  her  back  into  the  centre  of  the  road  again.  “ You  were  fortunately  too  good  a 
horsewoman  to  take  any  harm  from  the  shy,  and  no  doubt  your  mare  has  recovered 
her  manners  by  this,  and  is  as  ashamed  of  herself  as  I am,”  said  the  stranger,  once 
more  raising  his  hat. 

“Yes,”  replied  Bessie,  with  a light  laugh ; “I  don’t  doubt  she  is ; but  she  has  an 
excuse.  Captain  Detfield  seated  by  the  roadside,  apparently  in  company  with  a 
knife-grinders’  barrow,  would  have  startled  me  as  much  as  it  did  Velvet,  had  I seen  it 
without  some  little  preparation. 

“ Miss  Stanbury ! ” exclaimed  the  guardsman ; “ the  light  must  be  my  excuse  for 
not  recognizing  you  in  the  first  instance.  I am  really  shocked  to  think  that  I should 
have  affrighted  you  and  Velvet;  but,  on  my  word,”  ho  continued,  laughing,  “you 
owe  me  some  amende  too.  Fancy  calling  my  new  hack  a knife-grinder’s  barrow ! ” 

“ Well,  what  is  it  you  have  got  there  with  you  ? ” 

“ Mind,  I swear  you  to  secrecy,  Miss  Stanbury ; but  I am  giving  my  whole  mind  up 
to  economy  this  winter.  I have  awoke  suddenly  to  the  fact  that  a horse  may  be 
defined  as  an  animal  that  always  eats  and  is  always  lame ; such  is  my  experience  of 
that  perverse  quadruped  of  late.  That  barrow,  Miss  Stanbury,  is  my  bicycle,  a hack, 
I am  assured,  when  I have  once  learned  to  ride  it,  that  can  go  faster  and  go  furthei 
than  any  horse  foaled,  — that  is  never  lame,  never  hungry,  but  which,  to  wind  up  with, 
u vkes  you  think  to  be  across  the  worst  you  ever  rode  would  be  elysium  compared 
to  it.” 

“ But  you  are  not  going  to  leave  your  — hack  — bicycle,  what  am  I to  call  it,  there, 
are  you  ? ” said  the  young  lady,  merrily. 

“ No ; now  I am  rested  a little  we  are  about  to  recommence  our  doleful  progress. 
If  you  can  reconcile  Velvet  to  my  company  I shall  be  proud  to  be  your  escort  into 

town.” 

“We  will  try.  Velvet  has,  of  course,  a proper  contempt  for  all  machinery ; but  I 
don  t think  she  will  object  to  your  new  steed,  when  she  thoroughly  sees  what  it  is. 

We  often  encounter  them.” 

° ikavo,  Miss  Stanbury!  ” replied  Detfield.  “No,”  he  continued,  jumping  on 


94 


Two  Kisses. 


bicycle,  “ we  will  push  along,  nominally  because  it  is  getting  late,  but  in  reality 
because  this  affair  usually  upsets  when  I try  to  go  slow  on  it.”  Detfield  had  attained 
very  fair  proficiency,  and  kept  alongside  Velvet's  easy  canter  without  difficulty;  that 
high-bred  quadruped,  after  a disdainful  snort  or  two,  making  no  objection  to  the 
arrangement.  “ It  is  a good  while  since  we  met,  Miss  Stanbury,”  observed  the 
guardsman ; “ but  I’m  afraid  we  have  few  mutual  acquaintances.” 

“ Yes,  that  is  likely,”  rejoined  Bessie.  “ London  is  very  big,  and  my  acquaintance 
not  very  extensive.  You  see  I have  not  been  what  is  called  ‘ out  ’ very  long ; and, 
though  I’ve  been  to  a good  many  parties  this  winter,  I suppose  our  paths  lie  wide 
apart.” 

“ I don’t  know  about  that,"  replied  Charlie,  somewhat  mendaciously ; “ it  is  mar- 
vellous how  people  run  across  each  other  in  London.” 

" Then  I suppose,  Captain  Detfield,  the  fates  have  been  against  it  in  our  case  ? ” 

“ It  would  seem  so.  Fortune  has  treated  me  scurvily  of  late  in  many  things.  I 
hope  she  will  behave  better  in  future ; ” and  here  Charlie  bethought  him  what  an 
inconvenient  thing  a bicycle  was  from  wffiich  to  sustain  a conversation  with  a lady. 

They  were  now  nearing  Liverpool  road,  and  had  arrived  at  the  tramway  that  enters 
the  suburb  on  the  north.  Bound  the  turn  in  the  road  came  the  gleaming  lights  of  the 
cars.  Calling  to  his  companion  to  pull  to  one  side,  Detfield  turned  his  bicycle  to  the 
other,  but  the  big  wheel  caught  in  the  iron  grooves  of  the  tram,  and,  with  a heavy 
crash,  Charlie  came  to  the  ground.  Though  a little  shook  he  had  sense  enough  left  to 
roll  clear.  Another  second,  and  the  heavy  car  smashed  his  overturned  bicycle  to 
shivers.  With  a passing  malediction  the  driver  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  his  way, 
and,  covered  with  mud,  Detfield  sprang  to  his  feet. 

Bessie,  passing  the  car  upon  the  opposite  side,  saw  nothing  of  this  accident.  She 
looked  round  when  she  cleared  it,  and,  missing  her  companion,  at  once  reined  up  her 
mare.  It  was  getting  dark  now,  and  she  could  see  nothing  of  him.  She  sat  still  and 
waited.  The  bicycle,  needless  to  say,  did  not  appear.  Then  Bessie  turned  her  horse 
and  walked  it  slowly  along  the  road.  Before  she  had  gone  a hundred  yards  she  met 
Detfield. 

“ What  is  the  matter  ? ” she  exclaimed.  “ And  where  is  this  economical  hack  that 
is  to  wear  down  poor  Velvet  ? ” 

“ Dead ! ” replied  Charlie,  laughing ; “ he’s  been  run  over  and  killed  by  the  street- 
cars. No  commiseration,  Miss  Stanbury ; you  can’t  think  how  glad  I am  he’s  gone. 
It’s  such  a comfort  to  find  the  thing  as  liable  to  accident  as  horse-flesh.  You’re  witness 
I’ve  tried  economy,  and  that  it  turned  out  a failure.  I shall  sue  the  company  for 
damages  next  week,  and  buy  a hack  with  the  proceeds.” 

“ But  you  are  covered  with  mud ! ” cried  Bessie,  as  a street-lamp  revealed  the  state 
of  Detfield’s  dress.  “ Are  you  sure  you  are  not  hurt  ? ” 

“ Not  a bit,  except  in  regard  to  my  vanity.  I know  I’m  not  looking  my  best  for  a 
lady,  and  that  is  always  painful  to  bear.” 

« Nonsense  1 ” returned  Bessie  “ but  here  is  p&y  groom.  What  can  he  do  for  you  \ v 


On  a Bicycle. 


95 


“ Let  him  ride  on  and  get  me  a cab,  and  allow  me  to  walk  alongside  you  to  your 
dwn  door.  It’s  no  distance  now  — ” 

“ And  your  bicycle  ? ” 

“ Let  its  bones  lie  where  it  fell.  I am  well  rid  of  it.  Velvet  was  right  in  her  con- 
victions ; they  are  things  to  be  fought  shy  of.” 

Bessie  laughed,  as  she  gave  her  henchman  his  orders,  and  walked  her  mare  slowly 
homewards,  while  Detfield  strode  by  her  side. 

' “It  is  well  it  is  dark,  Miss  Stanbury,  or  I should  compromise  you  fearfully.  The 
neighborhood  would  say  that  you  came  home  accompanied  by  a crossing-  sweeper.” 

“ I don’t  care  much  what  the  neighborhood  think,”  replied  Miss  Besse,  proudly. 

“ Oh,  please  don’t  say  so,”  rejoined  Charlie,  earnestly.  “ No  woman,  and  espe- 
cially a young  one,  can  ever  afford  to  say  that.  Ten  thousand  pardons,  Miss  Stan- 
bury, I have  no  business  to  preach.  I apologize,  but  I know  the  world  better  than 
you.” 

“You  fancy,  then,  that  I ought  not  to  be  seen  coming  home  with  you  in  this  way,” 
said  Bessie,  somewhat  bitterly. 

“ No ; don’t  mistake  me.  I was  only  jesting  at  my  own  disreputable  appearance ; 
* but  you  spoke  so  boldly  about  defying  your  neighbors  — excuse  me,  I was  wrong,  I 
always  am  — taking  to  a bicycle,  for  example.  Pray  forget  and  forgive  my  unfortu- 
nate remark.” 

A guardsman  of  twenty-six,  preaching  sermons  to  a girl  of  eighteen,  — the  thing 
was  an  anomaly. 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  Detfield  striding  steadily  along  by  Velvet’s  side, 
wondered  what  could  have  possessed  him  to  begin  moralizing.  But  his  reflections 
were  speedily  brought  to  a close  by  their  arrival  at  the  Misses  Stanburys*  door, 
where  Bessie’s  groom  and  a cab  were  awaiting  them.  Charlie  lifted  his  fair  com- 
panion from  her  saddle,  declined  coming  in  on  the  plea  of  his  bespattered  habiliments, 
and,  expressing  a hope  that  he  might  have  the  good  fortune  to  meet  Miss  Bessie 
again  ere  long,  took  his  departure. 

Bessie  amused  her  aunts  at  dinner  with  a laughing  account  of  the  guardsman’s 
misadventure ; but  more  than  once  that  evening  she  knit  her  brows,  and  the  color  in 
^ her  cheek  deepened  as  she  thought  of  Detfield’s  remark.  It  angered  and  annoyed 
her.  She  deemed  that  he  had  misunderstood  her;  that  he  had  taken  her  half-jesting, 
half-petulant  little  speech  seriously.  A frank,  free,  unaffected  English  girl,  Bessie 
had  no  desire  to  be  included  in  the  category  of  “ fast  young  ladies,”  neither  was  she 
given  to  such  habitual  contempt  of  the  convenances  as  her  retort  would  imply.  The 
young  lady  felt  a little  indignant  that  Detfield  should  have  taken  her  so  literally. 
She  did  not  want  him,  or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  any  one,  as  she  remarked  to  herself, 
to  think  of  her  in  that  way.  She  had  done  herself  an  injustice,  and  she  knew  it. 
She  certainly  did  not  merit  to  be  regarded  in  that  light.  Why  had  he  taken  up  her 
foolish  speech  so  quickly  ? Then  she  wondered  what  had  surprised  him  into  speaking 
no  earnestly.  It  had  been  but  a few  words,  apologized  for  as  soon  as  uttered,  brief  as 


96 


Two  Kisses. 


a ripple  on  the  water ; and  yet  Bessie  thought  she  had  caught  a glimpse,  in  those 
half-dozen  seconds,  of  a chivalrous  manhood,  under  the  guardsman’s  usual  light, 
nonchalant  manner,  such  as  she  would  fain  know  more  of. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE  MAJOR’S  MEDITATIONS. 

Thinking  that  you  have  game  in  your  hand,  and  playing  your  cards  boldly,  it  is 
rather  a shock  to  find  that  you  have  miscalculated  trumps.  Deeming  that  you  have 
considerably  the  best  of  your  neighbor,  and  suddenly  awaking  to  the  fact  that  it  is  he, 
on  the  contrary,  who  is  in  a position  to  dictate  terms  to  you,  is  also  apt  to  disturb  the 
equanimity  of  practitioners  like  Major  Jenkens.  Men  who  live  by  the  weaknesses 
of  their  fellovrs  are  wont  to  be  much  put  out,  on  finding  themselves  in  contact  with  a 
bird  of  prey  stronger  in  the  wing  than  themselves.  The  major  cannot  get  over  Mr. 
Roxby’s  curt,  decisive  ultimatum.  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that  he  will  be  amply 
recompensed  for  his  share  in  the  arrangement  of  Miss  Stanbury’s  marriage,  but  the 
major  had  fully  intended  to  be  a partner  in  such  spoil  as  might  accrue  from  the 
successful  negotiation  of  that  affair ; evident  now  that  Mr.  Roxby  will  have  nothing  to 
say  to  him  concerning  it,  unless  he  enacts  the  role  of  a subordinate.  This  is  precisely 
what  the  major  specially  objects  to  do. 

It  is  a blow  to  his  amour  propre.  He  is  not  particular,  as  we  know.  He  will  stick 
at  little  that  does  not  place  him  within  the  clutches  of  the  law ; but  he  does  like  to  pull 
the  strings  himself.  He  chafes  at  being  a mere  puppet  in  the  hands  of  another.  He 
knows  Roxby  wrell ; he  knows  that  eminent  city  financier  to  be  as  bold  as  unscrupulous. 
Twice  has  he  had  transactions  with  him ; and  upon  each  occasion,  clever  as  the  major 
was,  he  had  found  himself  thoroughly  outwitted,  and  a mere  tool  at  the  last  in  the 
hands  of  his  crafty  and  audacious  coadjutor.  This  had  irritated  the  major  much,  and 
he  had  vowed  that  the  day  should  come  when  it  should  be  he  that  would  dictate  how 
.affairs  should  be  carried  out  to  Roxby.  When  that  gentleman  wrote  him  that  little 
note  to  John  street,  Major  Jenkens  conceived  liis  day  was  come ; but  the  ball  in 
Barnsbury  park  had  rather  dissipated  that  opinion . 

Major  Jenkens  occupied  chambers  in  a first  floor  in  Charles  street,  Berkeley  square, 
plainly  but  handsomely  furnished  rooms,  and  pervaded  by  their  occupant’s  love  of 
order.  From  the  trim  writing-table  to  the  dwarf  book-case,  from  the  lounging-chair 
to  the  comfortable  sofa,  everything  was  arranged  with  almost  mathematical  precision. 
You  saw  no  volumes  upside  dowm,  or  a second  volume  in  place  of  a third  in  that  book- 
case ; no  answered  letters  or  loose  note-paper  were  scattered  about  that  table.  Long 
experience  had  taught  the  major  the  precise  angle  at  which  that  lounging-chair  got 
most  benefit  of  the  fire,  and  least  possible  draught  from  the  window ; where  the  sofa 


The  Major's  Meditations. 


97 


and  the  other  furniture  figured  to  the  greatest  advantage.  Having  made  up  his  mind 
on  these  points,  he  permitted  no  shifting  of  his  movables  from  the  places  assigned  to 

them. 

“ The  furniture,  sir,  in  these  rooms,”  he  was  wont  to  observe,  “ has  been  arranged 
after  considerable  study  of  their  natural  disadvantages.  It  is  absurd  to -think  you  can 
place  a chair  here  so  cleverly  as  I can.  Those  who  live  in  a place  understand  where 
the  draughts  and  other  drawbacks  lie.  All  houses,  chambers,  lodgings,  etc.,  have 
their  weak  points,  blemishes  not  to  be  counteracted.  Sit  where  I put  you,  and  you 
will  be  comfortable.  Move  your  chair  according  to  your  whim,  and  don’t  blame  me 
if  you  have  a crick  in  the  neck.” 

It  was  true  that  the  major  was  not  given  to  entertain  visitors.  It  was  only  upon 
rare  occasions  that  he  invited  a guest  even  to  smoke  a cigar  in  his  chambers ; and, 
social  buccaneer  that  he  was,  yet  he  was  scrupulous  as  an  Arab  under  his  own  roof 
tree.  If  you  dined  with  him  at  his  club,  and  hinted  at  ecarM  to  pass  away  the  even- 
ing, you  would  find  him  a dangerous  antagonist,  albeit  he  did  not  play  very  often ; 
but  nobody  had  ever  succeeded  in  making  the  major  produce  cards  in  his  own  rooms. 
It  was  probably  matter  of  calculation.  When  the  major  played,  it  was  in  the  way  of 
business,  and  he  scorned  to  play  for  sugar-plums ; but  he  was  too  well  aware  of  what 
the  world  would  say  of  a man  like  himself,  who  should  win  a big  stake  in  his  own 
chambers.  The  major  thought  rightly  that  he  had  a character  to  maintain.  There 
were  not  wanting  scandal-mongers,  who  would  have  retorted  that  he  had  a character 
to  obtain. 

The  major,  enveloped  in  a well-wadded  dressing-gown,  i3  ensconced  in  that  most 
scientifically  disposed  lounging-chair,  and  immersed  in  thought.  He  is  stimulating 
his  intellect  with  a large  “ cabana,”  and  some  cognac  and  seltzer,  — aids  to  reflection  by 
no  means  to  be  despised  upon  occasion.  He  is  gradually  piecing  out  why  it  is  that  Mr. 
Roxby  appealed  to  him  at  all  about  finding  a husband  for  Bessie  Stanbury,  and  he  has 
arrived  at  a very  fair  guess  at  the  truth. 

“Yes,”  he  mutters,  slowly  ejecting  a long  wreath  of  tobacco-smoke,  “ he  must  in- 
tend to  seize  upon  a good  slice  of  that  girl’s  money  on  her  wedding,  and  I suppose  he 
thought  rightly,  if  she  was  snapped  up  by  any  of  his  business  friends,  or  any  young 
fellow  in  that  way,  that  the  settlements  would  be  looked  pretty  sharply  after.  If,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  can  marry  her  to  some  broken-down  swell  from  this  end  of  town,  he 
doubtless  reckons  on  his  being  a man  too  needy  to  inquire  very  closely  into  things, 
and  too  anxious  for  the  marriage  to  dare  to  quarrel  with  his  bride-e]££t’s  guardian,— 
one  who  could  put  his  veto  on  the  match  for  the  next  three  years,  at  all  events,  and 
without  whose  aid  and  countenance  the  wedding  would  in  all  probability  never  take 
place.  Possible,”  continued  the  major,  musingly,  “ that  my  esteemed  friend,  Roxby, 
has  already  made  away  with  a considerable  portion  of  that  thirty  thousand  pounds.  It 
wouldn’t  surprise  me  in  the  least.  However,  it’s  not  likely  that  he  will  allow  a glim- 
mer of  that  to  leap  out.  This  young  Detfield,  too,  apparently,  is  not  disposed  to 
lecond  my  exertion*  on  hi*  behalf,  — a piece  of  imbecility  on  his  part  that  I shall  havf 


98 


Two  Kisses. 


to  counsel  Simmonds  & Co.  to  put  a speedy  stopper  on.  1 don't  know,  but  it  cer 
tainly  does  occur  to  me  that  Roxby  might  find  him  out  not  quite  so  docile,  when  it 
comes  to  the  point,  as  he  reckons  upon.  Rather  a self-willed  young  man.  Hum ! I 
don’t  know  that  I have  made  a very  good  selection,  and  yet  at  the  moment  he  seemed 
the  veiy  man.  Absurd,  situated  as  he  is,  that  he  should  presume  to  differ  from  bis 
advisers.  It’s  ungrateful,  that’s  what  it  is,”  growled  the  major  wrathfully. 

But,  as  he  thought  it  over,  the  major’s  face  cleared  a little.  True,  at  the  first 
glance,  it  would  seem  very  much  against  his,  the  major’s,  interest,  if  Detfield  should 
decline  to  woo  the  heiress  pointed  out  to  him ; yet  if  he  should  do  so,  and  then  prove 
refractory  at  the  last  moment ; suppose  he  should  win  the  girl’s  consent,  and  decline 
to  accede  to  old  Roxby ’s  conditions,  whatever  they  might  be.  The  major  rather 
chuckled  at  the  idea.  He  had  already  perceived  that,  difficulties  or  no  difficulties, 
Detfield  had  a will  of  his  own,  and  was  capable  of  facing  all  the  consequences  of  his 
embarrassments  sooner  than  extricate  himself  by  a distasteful  marriage.  It  was  equally 
probable  that  Roxby’s  proposals,  when  he  should  come  to  hear  of  them,  would  strike  the 
guardsman  in  quite  another  light  from  that  in  which  the  financier  viewed  them.  The 
major  had  no  idea  what  they  would  be,  but  it  did  occur  to  him  that  what  Roxby  would 
airily  designate  a little  business  transaction,  Detfield  might  apply  a very  different 
epithet  to 

“Yes,”  mused  the  major,  “that  really  would  suit  me  better  than  anything  else. 
If  he  should  win  the  girl  and  come  to  loggerheads  with  old  Roxby  about  the  settle- 
ments, my  fee  certainly  would  be  in  danger,  but  the  old  fox  would  have  to  show  his 
hand,  and  I might  pick  up  a little  information  that  would  give  me  the  whip-hand 
of  my  dear  friend  Roxby  for  life.  1 should  think  that  cheap  at  £500.  But  confound 
that  fellow,  Detfield,  how’s  he  to  win  a girl  if  he  won’t  make  love  to  her  ? — and  he’s 
refused  all  the  invitations  Roxby  has  sent  him.  We  must  make  him  feel  his  diffi- 
culties a little;  he  must  understand  that  Simmonds  requires  to  be  humored;  that 
whatever  his  ultimate  intentions  may  be,  1 going  in  ’ for  a wealthy  marriage  is  the 
only  thing,  except  a settlement,  to  pacify  that  Christianized  Jew  just  now,  and  I must 
ti*ust  to  the  girl  herself  and  Mrs.  Paynter’s  counsels  to  do  the  rest.  It  was  a mas- 
terly conception  that  of  deceiving  her  with  regard  to  which  Miss  Stanbury  was  the 
heiress.  Such  a coquette  as  Mrs.  Paynter  would  never  resign  an  admirer  to  a pos- 
sible rival ; I have  only  to  take  care  that  she  does  not  discover  the  mistake  until  too 
late.” 

The  major  was  an  artist  in  social  intrigue.  He  revelled  in  it,  and  wove  or  repaired 
the  broken  threads  of  his  numerous  schemes  with  all  the  patience  and  industry  of  a 
hungry  spider.  He  had  always  been  particularly  fortunate  in  the  delicate  operation 
of  bringing  two  people  together  with  a view  to  matrimony,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
softly  as  he  looked  back  upon  more  than  one  successful  negotiation  of  that 
description. 

“ Hum,  that’s  settled,”  murmured  the  major,  gently  throwing  himself  back  in  hit 
chair,  and  watching  the  smoke-wreaths  as  they  curled  above  his  head;  “that  is  t# 


The  Major's  Meditations. 


99 


say,  I'/e  decided  how  I’m  to  play  my  game,  and  what  will  be  the  most  profitable 
result  1 o Claxby  J enkens,  — the  only  person  I have  to  care  about  in  the  affair.  Now,” 
continued  the  major,  knocking  the  ash  of  his  cigar  carefully  into  a little  china  saucer, 
“ I have  two  other  bits  of  business  that  require  immediate  attention.  Item  first,  the 
Montague  Gores  have  returned  from  their  wedding  trip,  and  I must  see  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague. It  is  a thousand  pities  I found  her  too  late.  If  I could  have  spoken  to  her 
before  that  marriage ! What  sort  of  a marriage  is  this  that  she  has  made  ? How 
came  it  about  ? Psha ! ” he  muttered,  “ what  nonsense ! don’t  I know  ? Left  as  she 
was,  poor  child,  what  else  could  she  do,  but  accept  the  first  man  that  offered  her  a 
home  ? — and  I had  intended  that  it  should  be  so  different.  I had  meant  that  Cissy 
should  choose  whom  she  liked  this  time.  I chose  for  her  the  first ; I thought  I had 
insured  her  wealth,  at  all  events.  I think  if  I had  met  Hemsworth  a year  or  two  ago, 
knowing  what  I do  now,  he  would  not  have  lived  as  long  as  he  did.  I suppose  he 
would  have  fought  if  collared,  and  by  my  soul  he’d  have  a fair  chance  to  judge  of  my 
shooting ; ” and  the  major’s  eyes  gleamed  with  a savage  light,  such  as  men’s  cany 
when  the  thirst  for  blood  possesses  them.  “I  kept  away  from  them;  I thought  it 
best ; what  have  I on  earth  to  love  but  her  ? Well,  I didn’t  want  — no,  of  course ; I’m 
a disreputable  old  vagabond,  and  the  world  says  hard  things  of  me,  — would  say 
harder,  perhaps,  if  it  dared.  I didn’t  want  my  darling  to  be  clogged  with  an  old 
father,  of  whom  such  queer  stories  are  afloat.  I dare  say  she  thought  me  unkind. 
They  call  me  hard;  I am;  but  it’s  all  for  her.  Cissy,  I must  see  you  again,  my 
child,  if  only  to  hear  from  your  own  lips  that  you  are  happy.” 

No  one  of  Claxby  J enkens’  acquaintance  would  have  recognized  their  cool,  cynical 
friend  in  the  man  who,  with  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  bent  over  the  fire  and  gulped 
down  a rising  sob  or  two  with  difficulty.  Yet  it  was  so.  The  battered  old  heart, 
hard  as  granite  to  the  world  generally,  had  this  one  soft  spot  in  it,  an  oasis  in  the 
desert.  Claxby  Jenkens,  in  all  his  scheming,  plotting,  and  plundering,  had  ever  an 
eye  to  leaving  a snug  fortune  to  his  daughter.  His  one  anxiety  for  some  years  had 
been  to  get  the  girl  settled  in  life.  He  knew  too  well  what  sort  of  reception  a daughter 
of  his  was  likely  to  receive  in  society.  When  he  had  married  her  to  Hemsworth,  he 
deemed  hi3  end  accomplished.  He  had  looked  more  at  Hemsworth’s  position  than  at 
hi*  character.  It  was  the  light  in  which  a man  like  the  major  would  be  sure  to  regard 
a narti  for  his  daughter.  He  disappeared  immediately  after  the  wedding ; his  reasons 
we  already  know.  It  was  well,  perhaps,  that  it  had  been  so. 

The  major  would  have  been  likely  to  call  Hemsworth  sternly  to  account  for  his 
neglect  of  his  wife,  a father-in-law  with  whom  quibble  or  evasion  would  have  scarce 
passed  current.  Mark  Hemsworth  had  been  just  the  man  to  have  cowered  before 
him,  but  to  have  brutally  avenged  himself  on  Cissy  afterwards.  However,  that  was 
a past  now  dead  and  buried.  It  was  the  future  that  was  to  be  looked  to ; and  no  fond 
and  respectable  father  of  a family  ever  felt  more  anxious  about  the  happiness  of  his 
favorite  daughter  than  did  this  world-worn  social  marauder. 

* Xes,”  he  muttered,  “ I must  see  Cissy  in  the  first  place ; not  much  diificulty  about 


100 


Two  Kisses. 


that  Ik  the  second.  I must  find  Tim  Turbottle.  Who  could  have  dreamed  of  t is 
leav  the  old  cigar-shop,  and  taking  it  into  his  head  to  wander  about  the  countiy  ? 
However,  **f  course  he  is  to  be  found ; it  is  only  a question  of  time.  It  will  be  as 
well  uot  tc  be  in  a hurry.  I shall  be  better  able  to  form  an  opinion  of  Mr.  Montague 
Gore  after  a little.  If  you  have  made  as  great  a mistake  for  yourself,  child,  as  I did 
for  you,  it  wul  be  well  that  you  should  have  something  to  fall  back  upon.”  With 
whk  h reflection  the  major  emptied  his  goblet  and  betook  himself  to  bed. 

Claxby  Jenkins  thinks,  like  many  other  intriguers,  that  he  holds  the  strings  that 
shall  guide  the  destinies  of  three  or  four  persons  in  this  history ; but  it  may  likely 
prove  the  old  story,  that  those  he  deems  his  puppets  will  not  dance  to  his  pipe.  It 
occurs  to  these  diplomatists,  at  times,  to  find  that  they  have  failed  to  gauge  the  course 
that  man  or  woman  will  take  under  certain  conditions.  We  know  what  we  ourselves 
would  do  under  such  circumstances,  but  forget  that  others  may  regard  things  in  a 
different  light.  We  scheme  to  make  the  happiness  of  our  friends,  perhaps,  and  go  a 
long  way  to  make  them  miserable.  Ideas  of  Elysium  do  not  always  coincide.  Above 
all,  we  do  not  agree  with  our  intimates  concerning  what  is  best  for  us.  The  major 
would  fain  smooth  Cissy’s  path  in  this  world,  and  yet  he  had  failed  signally  so  far. 
It  possible  that  his  further  manoeuvres  may  prove  equally  unsuccessful. 

Still  he  is  so  wedded  to  his  accustomed  mole-like  strategy  that  he  could  hardly  be 
induced  to  try  a straightforward  and  above-board  course;  so  impressed  with  the 
mr,xim  that  his  neighbor  is  continually  striving  to  do ’his  duty  by  getting  the  better 
of  him,  that  it  behoves  him  to  work  with  secrecy  and  caution.  Much  exercised  in 
hi?  mind  and  strengthened  in  his  creed  by  the  conduct  of  neighbor  Roxby  at  this 
tin  e,  and  feeling  that  mankind  is  less  than  ever  to  be  trusted,  and  that  his  designs 
and  intentions  cannot  be  too  carefully  shrouded  from  those  whom  they  may  concern, 
the  fates  are  working  for  him  more  than  he  knows ; but  your  social  diplomatist  is  only 
too  apt  to  mar  what  he  would  fain  achieve  by  injudicious  interference.  The  major  is 
an  artist,  it  must  be  admitted,  but  the  man  who  trusts  nobody  invariably  pays  the 
penalty  of  misconstruing  human  nature. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BIBS.  PAYNTER’S  SACRIFICE. 

Mrs.  Paynteb  has  hardly  yet  got  over  Cissy’s  wedding.  That  lively  lady  alludes 
to  it  with  a mock  pathos,  irresistibly  ludicrous. 

“ A nice  thing  for  her,  of  course  it  is,  poor  darling ! She  had  nothing,  you  know, 
and  will  make  Montague  Gore  a charming  wife.”  Mrs.  Paynter  is  apt  to  be  a little 
incoherent  when  excited,  and  speaks  as  if  poverty  was  a necessary  ingredient  of  a 
charming  wife.  “ But  the  ceremony  was  dreadful.  It  was  quite  shocking  to  be 


loi 


Mrs.  Pay nter's  Sacrifice. 

married  in  that  way ; really,  you  know  it  might  as  well  have  been  all  done  at  a 
registrar’s  office.  Nobody  there,  and  I in  such  a lovely  dress,  — it  was  quite  sinful  not 
to  be  seen  in  it.  Yes,  we  stole  into  church  as  if  engaged  in  some  criminal  proceed- 
ing ; if  we  had  been  after  the  communion  plate  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
have  felt  more  guilty.  I was  conscious  of  a creeping  sensation  all  the  time,  such  as  I 
presume  accompanies  infringement  of  the  law.  I cowered  beneath  the  eye  of  the 
beadle,  and  shouldn’t  have  been  surprised  if  I had  been  taken  into  custody  at  the 
church  door.  No,”  Mrs.  Paynter  would  conclude,  with  a shrug  of  her  shoulders  and 
upraising  of  her  delicate  brows,  “ I can’t  say  what  I may  take  part  in  before  I die, 
but  I’ll  never,  never,  have  anything  to  do  with  a quiet  wedding  again.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Charlie  Detfield,  when  this  sad  story  was  unfolded  to  him,  “ all 
weddings  are  rather  melancholy  affairs,  — don’t  you  think  so  ? ” 

“ Certainly  not,”  retorted  Mrs.  Paynter,  her  blue  eyes  dancing  with  mirth;  “I 
expect  yours  to  be  rather  good  fun.  When  do  you  marry  your  grandmother  ? Beg 
pardon,  Charlie,  I mean  the  Islington  woman.” 

I should  think  never,”  retorted  Detfield,  brusquely t 
•*  But  you  must,  you  know,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter,  gently.  “ How  are  the  debts  ever 
to  be  settled,  if  you  don’t?  You  won’t  tell  me  much;  men  never  do  about  such 
troubles ; but,  my  poor  Charlie,  1 know  all,  — never  mind  how.  Many  money  you 
must,  and  that  very  soon.  She  is  not  so  very  old,  and  she  looks  a nice,  good-natured 
woman.  It  will  all  do  very  well.” 

“ Ah ! you  know  I’ve  the  rope  round  my  neck,  do  you  ? ” exclaimed  Detfield,  bit- 
terly. “ Doesn’t  it  ever  strike  you  that  there  may  be  other  ways  of  escaping  from 
my  troubles  ? That  one  can  sell  out,  cut  London,  and  begin  life  anew  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Charlie,  I have  thought  of  all  that,”  replied  the  lady,  in  a voice  so  low  that 
it  was  scarce  above  a whisper.  “ Begin  life  again,  eh  ? But  how  ? It  is  so  difficult 
for  such  as  you.  ” 

Coquette  as  she  was,  Lizzie  was  thoroughly  in  earnest.  She  felt  keenly  for  Det- 
fiteld,  and,  perhaps,  realized  the  hopelessness  of  his  position  better  than  he  did.  She 
was  very  fond  of  him  in  her  way.  Do  you  ask,  did  she  love  him  ? No.  Lizzie  Paynter’s 
heart  was  in  the  safe-keeping  of  the  last  man  society  would  have  suspected  of  pos- 
sessing it,  — her  husband.  But  that  did  not  in  the  least  prevent  her  having  a tendreze* 
for  some  one  of  her  admirers ; besides,  Lizzie  invariably  had  a ciscebo , and  Detfield  at 
present  was  in  possession  of  that  post. 

Charlie  was  silent.  He,  too,  when  he  had  thought  over  his  future,  had  sometimes 
wondered  what  there  was  that  he  could  turn  his  hand  to.  It  is  not  so  easy  to  say, 
after  half-a-dozen  years  of  a military  life,  how  best  to  set  about  earning  your  bread 
“No,  believe  me,”  continued  Mrs.  Paynter,  at  length,  “this  marriage  is  the  best 
thing  for  you.  She  is  certain  to  be  married,  and  may  light  upon  a veiy  much  worse 
husband  than  you.  Of  course,  she  is  a little  old  for  you,  but  you  can’t  have  every* 
thing.  She,  at  all  events,  will  have  a gentleman  for  a husband;  and  I don’t  tliink, 
Charlie,  you  could  ever  ill-treat  a woman.” 


102 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Does  it  ever  strike  you  that  all  this  sounds  somewhat  singular  from  your  lips  ? ” 

“ Yes ; but  it  is  for  your  own  good.  Do  you  think,  if  things  were  otherwise,  1 
would  let  you  marry  if  I could  prevent  it  ? No,  Charlie,  I am  giving  up  something 
too.  We  must  buiy  the  past.  I shall  wear  mourning  for  — :or  what’s  been  fora 
little ; and  then  we  shall  be  friends,  stanch  friends,  you  know,  :for  life.”  And  Mrs. 
Paynter  bowed  her  head  in  attitude  of  the  prettiest  resignation. 

It  was  a curious  thing,  but  Detfield  had  fallen  by  accident  into  the  same  mistake 
that  Mrs.  Paynter  had  been  intentionally  led  into  by  the  major.  He  had  thought 
rightly,  that  Bessie  Stanbury  was  the  heiress,  in  the  first  instance ; but  Mrs.  Payntel 
had  laughingly  pointed  out  Aunt  Clem  to  him,  in  the  course  of  that  evening  at 
Barnsbury  park,  as  the  lady  who  possessed  thirty  thousand  pounds.  Charlie,  very 
careless  about  the  matter,  and  having  little  intention  of  getting  out  of  his  difficulties 
m such  fashion,  had  at  once  imagined  himself  mistaken.  He  thought  it  so  much  more 
probable  that  the  elderly  spinster  was  the  wealthy  bride  recommended  to  his  notice, 
than  that  pretty  girl  in  all  the  flush  and  excitement  of  her  first  ball.  Detfield  was 
quite  as  convinced  that  Miss  Clementina  was  the  lady  rejoicing  in  all  these  golden 
allurements  as  Mrs.  Paynter  herself.  To  him  Aunt  Clem  represented  the  Miss  Kil- 
mansegge  of  Islington.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  mention  his  last  meeting 
with  Bessie.  Men  are  shy  of  mentioning  their  discomfitures  to  the  woman  they  love, 
we  know,  and  the  bicycle  business  was  likely  to  evoke  more  laughter  than  sympathy. 
To  express  admiration  for  one  pretty  woman  to  another  is  usually  considered  inju- 
dicious, but  it  certainly  requires  a clear  conscience.  Charlie  was  dimly  aware  of 
thinking  rather  more  about  Bessie  Stanbury  than  his  allegiance  to  Mrs.  Paynter  quite 
warranted. 

“ I suppose  it  must  be  so,  sooner  or  later,”  he  replied,  at  length.  “ I have  got  pretty 
near  to  the  end  of  my  tether ; and,  whatever  may  be  my  destiny,  I am  not  likely  to  see 
much  more  of  you.  Yes,  I’m  about  broke.  You’ll  miss  me  a little,  Lizzie,  I think.” 
“ You  know  I shall,”  interposed  Mrs.  Paynter,  rapidly.  “ You  knew  I would  do 
anything  in  my  power  to  help  you.  Advice  is  all  I have  to  give,  and  once  more  I say 
emphatically,  marry  the  heiress.” 

“ Suppose  the  heiress  won’t  marry  me  ? ” returned  Detfield,  smiling. 

“ I shall  suppose  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir,  till  you  have  tried.  I think,  Charlie,  you 
could  make  love  rather  nicely  if  you  gave  your  mind  to  it.” 

“Ah!  you  think  so.” 

“ You  don’t  deserve  an  answer,  but  just  for  once  I’ll  say  I know  it,”  returned  Mrs 
Paynter,  with  an  arch  flash  of  her  "bright  eyes. 

“ And  knowing  that  ? ” 

“ I say  go  away  and  do  it.” 

“ I don’t  see  the  necessity  of  going  away.” 

“ But  I do,”  cried  Mrs.  Paynter,  springing  to  her  feet,  and  giving  an  impatient  stamp 
of  her  little  foot.  “ What  fools  you  men  are  ! Charlie,  if  I didn’t  care  for  you,  1 
thould  let  you  keep  philandering  about  me  to  the  last.  But  it  can’t  be.  You  must 


103 


Mrs.  Paynter' s Sacrifice. 

think  of  yourself.  Leave  me  now,  and  next  time  I see  you  tell  me  you  are  engaged 
to  the  heiress.  You’ll  have  no  truer  or  stancher  friend  than  Lizzie  Paynter.  Do 
you  understand  me  now  ? ” 

“ Not  in  the  least,”  replied  Detfield,  curtly.  “ I have  a strong  idea  that  I am  dis- 
missed, — to  make  way  for  somebody  else,  I presume.” 

“ Unjust!”  she  cried,  and  fora  second  she  turned  her  face  from  him  and  leant 
upon  the  mantel-piece.  “Well,  let  it  be  so,  if  you  misunderstand  me  now,”  she  con- 
tinued, facing  him,  and  rearing  her  head  haughtily,  “ Miss  Stanbury  will  gain  a worse 
husband  than  I thought.” 

“ Pardon  me,”  he  said,  in  a low  voice,  after  a short  pause.  “ The  bitter  idea  of 
parting  with  you  must  be  my  excuse  for  my  brutal  remark.  I would  I could  recall 
I do  understand  you,  and  if  I don’t  do  what  you  wish,  believe  me,  I recognize  you 
would  banish  me  for  my  own  good.” 

“ That’s  like  your  old  self,  Charlie,”  exclaimed  Lizzie,  extending  her  hand.  “ Now 
say  good-by,  and  remember,  firm  friends  ever.” 

He  pressed  her  hands  passionately,  raised  them  for  an  instant  to  his  lips,  then  mur- 
mured, “ Firm  friends  ever,”  and  was  gone. 

Mi’s.  Paynter  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair,  and  mused  very  sadly  over  the  scene 
she  had  just  gone  through.  Her  life  was  passed  in  these  flirtations,  yet  she  was 
always  to  a certain  extent  quite  in  earnest  at  the  time.  She  had  been  very  fond  of 
Detfield,  — that  is  to  say,  in  her  way.  He  had  suited  her  exactly.  He  had  never 
made  an  attempt  to  pass  that  indescribable  boundary  at  which  Mrs.  Paynter  consid- 
ered her  admirers’  homage  ought  to  stop ; that  her  admirers  should  sometimes  not 
quite  recognize  this  particular  point  was  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at.  But  Mrs. 
Paynter  was  very  impatient  with  any  mistake  concerning  it.  She  had  been  most 
thoroughly  truthful  in  what  she  had  told  Detfield.  If  she  had  cared  about  him  less, 
she  would  have  kept  him  dangling  about  her.  She  dismissed  him,  because  she  hon- 
estly thought  that  was  the  only  thing  to  save  him.  It  may  sound  like  an  anomaly  to 
say  that  a woman  entertains  a sincere  love  and  esteem  for  her  husband,  and  yet  lives 
a life  of  perpetual  flirtation  — is  never  satisfied  without  an  admirer  at  her  side ; but 
the  thing  is.  There  are  women  such  coquettes  by  nature  that  they  crave  admiration 
as  an  opium-eater  does  the  fatal  drug.  It  becomes  ingrained  into  their  very  being. 
Their  heart  is  never  involved,  their  feelings,  perhaps,  slightly,  their  vanity  consid- 
erably. The  parading  an  admirer  before  the  world  is  a great  gratification  to  such 
women.  They  have  no  desire  that  their  affairs  should  be  hid  from  society.  Society 
usually  has  its  mouth  very  full  of  them,  but,  after  all,  it  is  generally  their  more  demure 
sisters  who  occasion  society  to  hold  up  its  hands,  and  make  moan  over  their  back- 
slidings. 

“ It  might  all  fit  in  so  very  nicely,”  thought  Mrs.  Paynter.  “ If  he  would  but  try 
in  earnest,  he  would  be  sure  to  succeed.  Women  at  that  age,  unless  they  are  purse- 
proud,  are  apt  to  get  a little  uneasy  lest  they  should  not  get  married  at  all.  She  didn’t 
give  me  the  idea  of  being  puffed  up  by  her  riches.  A pleasant,  good-tempered  body, 


104 


Two  Kisses. 


I should  say  A little  old  for  Charlie,  perhaps ; decidedly  so  indeed,  — might  almost  ba 
his  mother ; but  wc  could  soften  it  down  a good  deal  if  we  got  her  into  the  hands  of  * 
West-end  modiste.  These  fifteen  years  might  be  toned  down  to  seven  or  eight  (about 
the  actual  difference  between  them)  with  a little  attention  to  the  toilet,  — a mere 
nothing.  But  he ! there’s  the  difficulty,  — he’ll  not  make  an  effort.  I am  sacrificing 
myself  for  nothing,  and  he  is  so  very  nice.  These  men  they  never  do  understand 
what’s  good  for  them.  He’d  rather  — hem ! talk  to  me,  than  make  love  to  Miss  Stan- 
bury,”  and  here  Mrs.  Paynter  rose,  and,  crossing  the  room,  deliberately  contemplated 
her  pretty  face  in  the  glass. 

The  result  was  apparently  satisfactory,  for,  after  gazing  at  herself  for  some  sec- 
onds, an  arch  smile  stole  over  her  countenance,  and,  with  a light  laugh,  she  ex- 
claimed ; — 

“ Perhaps  he’s  right.  If  I were  a man,  I think  I also  should  prefer  it.” 

Of  a verity,  the  major  secured  a valuable  auxiliary  when  he  conceived  the  bold 
idea  of  calling  upon  Mrs.  Paynter. 

As  for  Detfield  he  is  at  present  something  like  the  Irishman’s  pig,  that  allowed 
itself  to  be  driven  so  peaceably  towards  Cork,  because  it  was  under  the  delusion  that 
its  owner  wanted  it  to  go  to  Limerick.  This  marriage  is  very  distasteful  to  him ; he 
had  declared  he  would  not  repair  his  broken  fortunes  in  that  way.  But  men  have 
made  such  resolutions  before,  and  yielded  at  last  to  the  special  pleading  of  friends, 
and  to  the  force  of  circumstances.  In  the  mean  while,  under  the  impression  that  she 
is  a portionless  girl,  Charlie  bids  fair  to  glide  into  a flirtation  with  Bessie  Stanbury. 
Of  course  there  is  every  possible  reason  for  his  not  doing  so,  regarding  Bessie  as  he 
does ; but  the  perversity  of  pigs  is  often  paralleled  in  human  nature.  A tendency  to 
fall  in  love  with  those  they  ought  not  has  been  a common  frailty  of  humanity  since 
the  world  began. 

He  meditates  a good  deal  upon  wooing  the  Islington  heiress,  as  he  strolls  leisurely 
down  Portland  place.  It  is  so  very  odd,  he  thinks,  that  Lizzie  Paynter  should  advo 
cate  it  so  warmly.  It  is  rather  unlike  her.  Curious  it  was,  with  the  Paynters  he  first 
made  his  bow  in  Barnsbuiy  park.  By  the  way,  now  he  comes  to  think  of  it,  it  was 
Mrs.  Paynter  who  had  made  him  accept  that  invitation.  How  came  she  to  be  thus 
travelling  out  of  her  usual  sphere  ? What  took  her  into  a society  so  foreign  to  her 
accustomed  haunts  ? As  Charlie  reflects  on  this,  he  begins  to  have  a vague  suspicion 
that  there  is  a conspiracy  to  many  him  to  Miss  Clementina.  But  then  how  came  it 
that  the  major  and  Mrs.  Paynter  should  be  engaged  together  in  such  a scheme  ? 
Why,  they  were  not  even  acquainted.  Suddenly  flashes  across  him  a shadowy 
recollection  of  seeing  them  talking  together  at  that  ball.  He  cannot  remember  dis- 
tinctly, yet  he  has  an  impression  that  it  was  so.  Well,  suppose  he  swims  with  the 
stream  and  tries  his  luck  ? 

“ I shan’t  break  my  heart  if  she  says  No,  that’s  one  comfort,”  he  muttered,  with  a 
grim  smile,  “ and  I shall  feel  tolerably  mean  if  she  chances  to  say  Yes.  Of  course,  it’s 
done  every  day,  and  I don’t  suppose  I am  j istifkd  in  refusing  good  counsel.  Why 


105 


After  the  Honeymoon. 

shouldn't  I also  go  in  for  money  ? There  is  one  thing,  — it  would  necessitate  visiting  a 
good  deal  in  Barnsbury  park,  and  I shall  see  something  more  of  Bessie  Stanbury, 
which  will  be  pleasant,  if  nothing  else  is.  Settled,  earned,  no  one  dissenting.  I am 
to  make  love  to  the  old  lady,  — a matter  of  business,  and  if  I have  a chance  to  flirt  a 
little  with  the  niece ; well,  I am  a weak  mortal,  and  shall  really  deserve  some  slight 
relaxation.  I shall  come  to  grief  over  it,  I know.  I’ve  a conviction  I'm  opening  the 
campaign  on  wrong  principles,  and  shall  be  eloquent  in  the  wrong  place.  lYhat  1 
have  been  trying  to  say  all  day  to  the  aunt  will  come  blundering  out  to  the  niece  in 
the  e/ening,  and  I shall  wind  up  by  proposing  to  the  wrong  woman.  Well,  it’s  a 
consolation  to  think  that  I can’t  be  in  a bigger  mess  than  I am  now,  and  if  I do  lose  my 
head,  and  ask  Miss  Bessie  to  marry  me,  we  can’t  get  any  further.  We  can’t  wed 
upon  my  debts,  and,  by  Jove ! that’s  about  all  the  property  left  me.  Paragraph  for 
the  < Post ' : i We  regret  to  announce  that  Captain  Detfield,  of  the  Household  Brigade, 
has  succumbed  to  the  prevailing  epidemic.  His  resources  proving  unequal  to  the 
demands  made  upon  them,  after  a lingering  and  painful  struggle,  he  departed  (tor 
the  Continent)  tranquilly  this  morning.  His  loss  will  be  much  felt  (for  forty-eight 
hours)  in  the  fashionable  world,  in  which  he  was  an  universal  favorite.'  ” And  then 
Charlie  indulged  in  a low  laugh  at  his  own  little  jest,  — such  laughter  as  men  make 
when  they  mock  their  own  miseries ; such  laughter  as  rings  cracked  and  hollow  on 
the  ear,  and  prefaces  at  times  criminal  solution  of  the  knot  men’s  follies  have  tied. 

Charlie  Detfield  spoke  of  his  difficulties  lightly,  but  they  were  gnawing  sharply  at 
his  heart-strings  nevertheless,  and  the  bitterest  drop  in  his  cup,  perhaps,  was  the 
thought  of  leaving  his  regiment.  He  loved  the  old  corps  very  dearly,  and  regretted 
much  that  his  days  in  it  were  already  numbered. 

--—+o>9<o* — 

CHAPTER  XX. 

AFTER  THE  HONEYMOON. 

Montague  Gore  has  returned  from  his  wedding  trip,  and  established  himself  and 
bride  in  Park  Crescent.  He  is  charmed  with  his  wife.  He  has  found  her  the  bright 
est  and  most  intelligent  of  companions,  and  yet  even  now  there  falls  at  times  a sligh 
shadow  across  his  life  that  causes  him  to  wince,  and  wonder  whether  it  will  ever  be 
swept  away.  Cissy  is  always  kind,  courteous,  and  good-tempered,  but  he  feels  that 
there  is  an  inner  life  of  which  she  reveals  nothing.  It  is  not  that  she  is  a lifeless 
statue ; on  the  contrary,  she  displays  plenty  of  animation,  and  enters  eagerly  into 
such  sight-seeing  or  society  as  may  fall  in  their  way.  She  is  always  pleasant  and 
bright  in  her  manner,  but  no  caress  ever  escapes  her.  She  yields  placidly  to  his  kiss, 
but  she  never  returns  it. 

Montague  Gore  thinks  at  times  sadly  that  he  has  failed  to  win  this  woman’s  heart', 


106 


Two  Kisses. 


that  for  all  the  love  he  lavishes  upon  her,  she  has  none  to  give  back.  Will  he  succeed 
in  touching  it ; or  is  she  of  so  reticent  a temperament  that  she  will  ever  keep  that 
inner  self  locked  firmly  within  her  own  bosom  ? He  knows  there  are  such  natmes,  — 
cool,  phlegmatic,  self-reliant  beings,  in  whom  tne  craving  for  sympathy,  so  common 
to  mankind,  does  not  exist.  Can  Cissy  be  one  of  these  ? He  thinks  not.  The  way 
her  face  lights  up  when  anything  pleases  her  forbids  him  to  think  so.  Montague 
Gore  arrives  at  the  conclusion  that  the  key  to  his  wife’s  heart  is  not  in  his  keeping. 

He  is  one  of  those  highly  sensitive,  imaginative  men  usually  so  ingenious  in  self- 
torture.  The  great  catastrophe  of  his  early  life  had  crushed  all  thought  of  woman’s 
love  out  of  him  for  years.  For  some  time  after  that  terrible  blow  he  abandoned  all 
society,  and  took  refuge  in  hard  work.  And  work  came  to  him  in  plenty ; even  his 
brethren  on  circuit  were  astonished  at  the  quantity  he  managed  to  get  through. 
Now  he  had  once  more  given  full  rein  to  his  affections,  and  was  sensitive  as  a woman 
in  his  love.  Again  and  again  he  told  himself  that  he  was  a fool,  and  tried  hard  to  put 
this  thought  away  from  him.  She  had  told  him,  when  he  asked  her  to  many  him, 
that  she  liked,  but  did  not  love,  him. 

Well,  was  she  not  all  that  he  had  any  right  to  expect  ? Could  he  not  rest  satisfied 
with  quiet  regard  and  esteem,  and  trust  to  time  for  the  rest  ? Plenty  of  men  would 
be  perfectly  satisfied  with  what  Cissy  gave  to  him ; but  he  unluckily  was  not  one  of 
them.  He  thirsted  for  her  entire  love.  Cissy  would  have  told  him,  had  he  talked  to 
heron  the  subject,  that  she  did  not  believe  it  was  in  her  nature  to  love  in  that  manner; 
but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  he  would  have  derived  much  comfort  from  that  assur- 
ance. Resolutely  though  he  might  try  to  put  this  thought  away  from  him,  angry  as 
he  felt  sometimes  at  his  own  folly ; still  it  was  ever  recurring  to  his  mind,  floating 
dimly  before  him  in  the  bustle  of  the  courts  at  Westminster,  standing  out  clear  and 
distinct  in  the  stillness  of  the  night-time,  gathering  strength  slowly  but  surely,  as  all 
such  morbid  ideas  will.  Montague  Gore  is  cherishing  a phantom  that  may  chance  to 
lay  his  hearth  desolate  should  it  grow  up. 

And  yet  the  charm  of  her  manner,  her  piquant,  graceful  ways,  increase  the  wild, 
passionate  love  that  he  has  for  her  daily.  Cissy’s  nature,  though  she  is  utterly 
unaware  of  it,  is  expanding  under  the  tender  watchfulness  of  her  husband.  In  that 
first  luckless  marriage  of  hers  she  had  been  treated  alternately  as  a pet  child,  and 
with  brutal  neglect.  Bullied  and  sneered  at,  she  had  lost  confidence  in  her  own 
powers.  She  had  many  times  wondered  whether  she  was  indeed  the  fool  Mark 
Hemsworth  so  continually  asserted  her  to  be.  , 

She  had  shrunk  from  the  coarse  associates  to  whom  he  so  often  introduced  her. 
Her  woman’s  intuitive  delicacy  had  forbid  her  to  make  a friend  in  all  that  money- 
making, speculating  circle,  in  which  her  Paris  life  had  been  passed,  — fungi  of  the 
Bourse,  who  were  rolling  in  riches  to-day,  and  Heaven  knows  where  on  the  morrow ; 
men  who  bought  everything,  reckless  of  price,  if  it  were  the  fashion,  but  could  no 
more  understand  the  pictures  which  adorned  their  walls,  or  the  music  they  paid  such 


After  the  Honeymoon. 


107 


sums  to  listen  to,  than  if  they  had  been  bereft  of  sense  and  hearing ; women  whose 
sole  end  was  to  outshine  each  other  in  dress,  equipage,  and  display. 

During  these  five  years  Cissy’s  inner  nature  had  laid  dormant.  Her  finer  feelings 
and  intellectual  faculties,  from  the  time  she  left  the  convent,  had  been  locked,  con- 
gealed, as  the  sea  in  an  Arctic  winter ; to  be  the  best-dressed  woman  in  Paris,  her 
highest  ambition;  to  be  present  at  the  first  exhibition  of  anything  notable,  play, 
opera,  a two-headed  child,  or  a Patagonian  giantess,  the  subject  of  her  most  strenuous 
desire  and  intriguing.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  all  this  incessant  tunc  oil.  the  girl,  for  she 
was  no  more,  had  a vague  feeling  that  she  was  made  for  something  better.  She  wouH 
sit  at  times  before  some  of  those  pictures  that  Mark  Hemsworth  had  collected  from 
mere  pride  of  purse,  and  gaze  at  them  till  the  painter’s  higher  meaning  stole  gradually 
into  her  mind.  She  would  occasionally  become  so  absorbed  at  the  opera  as  to  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  the  vapid  compliments  with  which  she  was  so  constantly  beset,  and  give 
cause  to  their  utterers  to  petulantly  endorse  Mark  Hemsworth’s  statement,  that  his 
wife  was  a fool.  And  yet  they  were  constrained  to  admit  Madame  Hemsworth  could 
talk  well  at  times. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  had  attracted  her  to  Lizzie  Paynter  was  this  lady’s 
soft,  caressing  manner.  Secondly,  Mrs.  Paynter  was  cultivated  in  her  tastes,  and,  in 
spite  of  her  irrepressible  passion  for  flirtation,  had  a genuine  admiration  for  art  as  far 
as  she  understood  it,  whether  it  was  in  poetiy,  painting,  music,  or  fiction.  Another 
thing,  too,  although  it  may  seem  almost  an  anomaly,  was  that,  despite  her  besetting 
weakness,  there  was  something  very  genuine  about  Lizzie.  She  could  not  help  that ; 
but,  if  men  only  understood  her,  she  was  very  honest  even  then.  It  was  they  who 
made  the  mistake,  if  they  did  not  comprehend  that  the  affair  was  to  be  limited  to  a 
little  sentiment. 

But  now  Cissy  was  living  a very  different  life.  Montague  Gore  treated  her  always 
with  deference,  and  constantly  talked  to  her  if  he  did  not  consult  her  about  his  own 
work.  She  was  thrown  in  contact  with  clever  men,  and  heard  much  talk  that  inter- 
ested her  with  regard  to  books,  music,  etc.  Her  husband’s  friends,  some  of  them 
were  engaged  more  or  less  in  such  occupations,  and  listened  to  Cissy’s  naive,  spirited 
comments  on  these  matters  with  evident  pleasure  and  amusement.  She  took  to  read- 
ing also.  It  annoyed  her  to  be  ignorant  of  what  was  current  topic  of  conversation 
amongst  the  world  in  which  she  now  lived.  You  would  have  said  she  was  improv 
mg  every  day,  and  adapting  herself,  week  by  week,  to  be  a fit  mate  for  the  man  she 
had  married. 

She  comes  into  her  pretty  breakfast-parlor,  fresh  as  a rose  this  May  morning, 
attired  in  a bewitching  costume,  highly  suggestive  of  Paris  to  a feminine  eye.  Her 
husband  glances  fondly  at  her,  as  she  makes  her  appearance,  and  exclaims : — 

“ Late,  Cissy.  Be  quick  with  the  tea,  please,  child,  for  I have  no  time  to  spare. 
Rather  an  ominous  pile  of  letters  for  you.” 

“ I am  so  sorry.  I don’t  know  how  I came  to  be  so  late.  You  snail  have  your 
tea,  though,  in  a moment ; ” and  Cissy  busied  herself  with  the  cups  and  saucers. 


108 


Two  Kisses. 


Her  husband,  meanwhile,  betook  himself  to  his  meal  with  the  air  of  a man  who  had. 
no  time  to  spare  Cissy,  having  completed  her  arrangements,  commenced  to  investi- 
gate her  correspondence.  As  her  husband  said,  it  was  rather  an  ominous  little  heap 
that  lay  by  the  side  of  her  plate.  Square-shaped,  unpromising  billets,  directed  in 
stiff,  clerkly  handwriting,  such  as  are  wont  to  be  more  or  less  familiar  to  most  of  us 
about  Christmas  time.  Cissy  knit  her  brows  more  than  once  as  she  ran  her  eye  over 
them,  and  at  last  could  not  refrain  from  an  ejaculation. 

“ A hundred  and  fifty-three  pounds ! ” she  exclaimed.  “ The  wretch ! Why,  I 
have  had  positively  nothing  for  it.” 

Montague  Gore  raised  his  head.  A milliner’s  bill  was  an  experience  that  he  had 
not  yet  encountered. 

“ Sounds  a deal  of  money,  Cissy.  Is  that  from  your  dressmaker  ? ” 

41  From  one  of  them,”  replied  his  wife,  carelessly.  “ I shouldn’t  mind  it  so  much, 
but  she  is  not  worth  the  price  she  charges.  I have  to  go  to  Paris  when  I want  any- 
thing nice ; but,  not  living  there,  I can’t  deal  altogether  with  my  old  modiste.” 

Montague  Gore  becomes  conscious  of  a second  revelation.  A man  usually  con- 
fines himself  to  one  tailor ; but  ladies  who  aspire  to  “ art  in  petticoats  ” find  work  for 
many  milliners. 

“ I hope  devoutly  that  those  malevolent-looking  epistles  are  not  all  on  quite  so  large 
a scale,”  remarked  Gore,  somewhat  curiously. 

“ They  come  to  a good  bit  of  money ; but  you  needn’t  look  frightened,  Montague, 
this  time,”  rejoined  Cissy,  laughing ; “ I have  a little  of  my  own  money  left  still. 
You  see  I had  to  get  some  things  for  our  wedding,  and  it  costs  so  much  to  dress 
decently  nowadays,  and  one  must  do  it.” 

She  said  this  with  the  air  of  one  who  lays  down  a proposition  which  admits  of  no 
possible  dispute. 

Gore  remained  silent  for  a moment.  Like  the  generality  of  men,  he  was  only  con- 
scious that  a woman’s  dress  became  her.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  details  that  went  to 
make  up  the  picture.  He  admired  it  as  a whole ; but  whether  it  was  expensive  or 
inexpensive  never  entered  his  thoughts.  He  did  know  his  wife  was  always  dressed 
most  becomingly,  but  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  even  her  plainest  toilets 
were  very  costly.  Just  now  he  is  putting  together  44  a hundred  and  fifty-three 
pounds  ” and  “ dressing  decently.”  It  strikes  him  that  he  does  not  quite  understand 
that  last  phrase. 

lie  smiles  as  he  replies,  44  Well,  my  dear,  of  course  you  must  be  what  you  call 
decent,  but  I should  have  thought  it  might  have  been  done  a little  cheaper.” 

44  I dare  say  it  might ; but  I’ll  own  that  I’m  stupid  about  such  things,  and  never 
can  manage  to  get  things  so  cheap  as  other  people.  I’m  no  use  at  bargaining, 
you  see.” 

44  Never  mind ; all  I meant  was  that  I should  think  there  are  lots  of  ladies  in  Lon- 
don who  can’t  afford  to  have  two  or  three  milliners’  bills  of  that  amount,  and  yet 
contrive  to  loek  dacaak” 


After  the  Honeymoon. 


109 


“ Do  you  know  what  Lizzie  says  ? ” cried  Cissy,  laughing.  “ She  says  there  are 
rwo  classes  of  women, — those  who  dress  themselves,  and  those  who  clothe  them- 
selves.” 

“ Meaning,  I presume,  those  who  are  rich  and  those  who  are  poor.” 

“ Nothing  of  the  sort.  Lizzie  is  quite  right ; there  are  plenty  of  women  who  go 
about  clad  in  silks  and  satins,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  not  quite  in  their  right  minds  ; 
and  there  are  plenty  more  who  trot  about  dressed  in  cheap  muslins  or  merinos.” 

“Well,  when  you  feel  economically  disposed,  I should  recommend  those  latter 
fabrics  to  your  notice.” 

“ No,”  replied  Cissy,  shaking  her  head,  “ they  don’t  suit  me.  I am  very  sony  for 
you,  Montague,  but  I only  look  my  best  in  rich  attire;  and  the  woman  who  is  not 
always  anxious  to  look  her  best  is  absorbed  in  pursuit  of  political  rights,  elevating  her 
status,  freeing  herself  from  the  slavery  your  sex  has  imposed  on  us,  or  some  equally 
unfeminine  employment.” 

“I  must  be  off.  Good-by,”  said  Gore,  as  he  rose  and  kissed  his  wife.  “Don’t 
think  I want  you  to  count  your  shillings  too  closely,  but  recollect  we  have  not 
Aladdin’s  lamp  in  the  house,  and  that  we  are  people  of  moderate  means.” 

“ Moderate  means ! ” thought  Cissy,  as  the  door  closed  behind  him.  “ Now,  I do 
wonder  what  I am  to  understand  by  that.  I never  asked  him  anything  about  his 
income  yet ; but  I think  I must.  I don’t  want  to  get  Montague  into  any  difficulty, 
and  I know  I’ve  been  taught  so  far  only  to  dress  and  spend  money.  If  I have  to 
economize,  I’m  sure  I shan’t  know  how  to  begin.” 

“ Moderate  means  ” is  rather  an  indefinite  term.  So  is  “ dressing  decently.” 
Cissy  is  as  puzzled  how  to  interpret  the  former  as  her  husband  how  to  understand  the 
latter. 

But  Cissy  has  not  quite  come  to  the  end  of  her  correspondence.  There  is  a letter 
or  two  left  unopened,  and,  as  she  listlessly  turns  them  over,  her  face  flushes.  Her 
eyes  sparkle  as  they  meet  the  neat,  precise  superscription  that  is  on  the  little  note  at 
the  bottom  of  the  heap.  How  well  she  knew  the  handwriting  once ! What  years  it  is 
since  she  has  seen  it,  — writing  of  one  who  loved  her  well,  and  whom  she  also  loved. 
What  secret  tears  she  had  shed  because  he  so  ruthlessly,  so  unaccountably,  aban- 
doned her ! 

He  had  told  her  when  she  married  Mark  Hemsworth  that  she  would  neither  see  no; 
near  from  him  for  a long  time.  He  had  enjoined  her  never  to  speak  of  him,  — never 
even  to  acknowledge  the  relationship. 

She  could  not  understand  why,  but  she  had  promised  and  stood  loyally  to  hei 
word.  She  had  thought  over  it  many  a time  since,  and  wondered  what  it  was  that  he 
dreaded.  Had  he  been  connected  with  dangerous  mercantile  speculations,  or  was  he 
involved  in  some  of  those  numberless  political  schemes,  always,  as  she  knew,  rife  in 
Paris  for  overturning  the  government,  whatever  it  might  be  ? She  was  such  a child 
at  the  time  of  her  marriage  it  was  little  likely  that  he  would  trust  her,  kind  and 
indulgent  father  as  he  had  ever  proved.  Still,  he  had  most  solemnly  adjured  he? 


no 


Two  Kissos, 


never  to  speak  of  him,  never  to  inquire  after  him  till  she  should  hear  from  himself 
Then  she  was  to  be  guided  by  what  he  wrote,  and  now  here  was  a letter  from  him 
after  all  these  years.  Did  he  even  know,  she  thought,  how  often  his  Cissy  had  wanted 
him  in  those  troublous  days  that  she  had  been  Mark  Hemsworth’s  wife  ? How  many 
times,  when  heartsick  from  neglect  or  brutal  gibes,  she  had  longed  for  some  friend  oi 
relation  on  whose  bosom  to  pour  forth  the  salt  tears  which  she  confided  only  to  her 
pillow,  — for  some  one  to  whom  she  might  sob  forth  the  story  of  her  ill-treatment  and 
unhappiness  ? How  often  she  had  thought  that  if  he  only  knew  he  would  have  taken 
his  darling  away,  or  read  Mark  Hemsworth  such  a lesson  as  would  have  ensured  her 
from  insult,  at  all  events,  in  the  future. 

The  circle  in  which  she  moved,  though  they  deemed  Cissy  a fortunate  woman, 
inasmuch  as  she  possessed  an  excellent  establishment  and  perfect  equipages,  were  not 
blind  to  Mark  Hemsworth’s  jeering  manner  to  his  young  wife,  nor  to  the  fact  of  those 
more  cowardly  insults  which  a coarse-minded  libertine  can  pass  on  the  woman 
who  has  the  misfortune  to  be  tied  to  him.  More  than  one  of  her  acquaintances, 
wedded  as  they  were  to  dress  and  display,  had  wondered  how  she  bore  with  Mark 
Hemsworth. 

But  Hemsworth,  although  he  did  not  know  the  reason,  knew  that  her  father 
intended  to  reside  entirely  in  England,  and  that  Cissy  was  ignorant  of  his  address. 
He  had  not  dared  to  treat  her  so  otherwise.  Whatever  else  he  might  be,  the  major 
was  a man  of  nerve  and  determination.  His  son-in-law  had  been  simply  a boisterous 
bully,  and,  as  a matter  of  course,  an  arrant  cur  at  bottom. 

Cissy’s  hand  shook  a little  as  she  at  last  broke  open  the  envelope.  What  he  was, 
what  he  might  be  reckoned  amongst  men,  she  neither  thought  nor  cared.  To  her  in 
her  girlhood  he  had  been  kindest,  most  loving,  most  patient  of  fathers,  and  she  had 
had  so  few  to  care  for  her.  There  was  a mist  before  her  eyes  as  she  read : — 

“Dearest  Cissy, — You  have  doubtless  thought  me  cruel,  unkind,  forgetful,  for 
never  seeing  or  writing  to  you  in  all  these  years.  My  child,  now  I have  arrived  at  some 
idea  of  what  you  have  gone  through,  I am  covered  with  shame,  anger,  and  confusion. 
It  is  well,  perhaps,  that  I did  not  know  sooner  the  story  of  your  Paris  life.  I know  it 
even  now  imperfectly,  but  my  pulses  tingle  yet  with  what  I have  learned  recently. 
Hemsworth  is  gone,  so  there  is  happily  no  more  to  be  said,  though  I acknowledge 
still  to  a feeling  of  regret  that  it  is  out  of  my  power  to  call  him  to  account  for  his 
treatment  of  you.  This  is  a story  of  the  past,  however;  let  it  lie  buried. 

Cissy,  don’t  think  I deserted  you.  I cut  myself  off  from  all  knowledge  of  you,  as 
I thought,  for  your  advantage.  I could  not  explain  why  to  you  then.  I can  hardly 
do  so  now  without  humiliating  myself.  You  will  not  force  your  father  to  do  this.  It 
was  a mistake.  I thought  I left  you  settled  in  life,  with  everything  a reasonable 
woman  could  wish  for.  That  your  husband  would  turn  out  what  he  did  never  entered 
my  head.  I did  my  utmost  to  discover  you,  when  I learnt  Hemsworth  was  dead.  I 
found  you,  but  it  may  be  too  late.  When  I did  see  you,  it  was  before  the  altar  of  S4» 


A Quintette. 


Ill 


George’s  Church ; I saw  you  married  for  the  second  time.  I am  perhaps  nervous  and 
fanciful,  child ; but  it  is  possible  that  this  marriage  also  may  turn  out  unhappily.  1 
know  how  you  were  left ; that  you  had  no  choice  hardly  but  to  many.  Could  I have 
found  you  a little  sooner,  you  would  have  known,  at  all  events,  that  was  no  necessity. 
I must  see  you,  to  learn  from  your  own  lips  that  you  are  well,  and  wedded  to  a man 
who  at  least  treats  you  with  kindness  and  respect.  But  the  reasons  that  mi.de  me 
separate  myself  from  you  still  exist.  I cannot  call  at  your  house.  Your  husband 
must  remain  ignorant  of  the  connection  between  us ; indeed,  I would  prefer  ;hat  he 
should  be  ignorant  of  my  very  existence.  Write  me  a line  then  here,  to  tell  me  when 
and  where  I can  see  you.  Till  then, 

“ Believe  me,  dearest  Cissy, 

“ Your  affectionate  father, 

“John  Claxby  Jenaens. 


“ 0 Charles  street,  Berkeley  square.” 


Cissy  read  this  letter  through  twice,  and  then  sat  twisting  it  absently  in  her  fingers. 
She  was  thinking  how  long  it  was  since  she  had  seen  the  writer ; how  attentive  and 
kind  he  had  always  been  to  her  girlish  whims  and  wishes ; how  delighted  she  would 
be  to  see  him  once  more.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  come  back  from  the  grave,  she 
had  so  long  and  so  entirely  lost  sight  of  him.  It  never  entered  her  head  that 
clandestine  meetings  are  always  liable  to  involve  a woman  in  trouble ; of  course  she 
should  keep  his  secret,  and  do  his  bidding.  She  had  always  done  what  he  told  her. 
She  would  write  at  once  and  say  where  they  were  to  meet ; of  course,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, it  must  be  somewhere,  rather  out  of  the  way.  Cissy  opened  a map  of 
London,  and  pondered  as  to  where  she  should  appoint  her  rendezvous.  She  did  not 
know  the  big  city  very  well,  but  it  suddenly  struck  her  that  some  of  the  squares  lying 
west  between  her  house  and  the  Marble  Arch  usually  wore  a deserted  appearance,  and 
one  of  these  squares  it  should  be. 

* 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A QUINTETTE. 


That  Mrs.  Paynter  would  be  one  of  Cissy’s  earliest  visitors  was  only  natural.  She 
really,  in  her  butterfly  fashion,  was  very  fond  of  the  bride,  and  had  been  immensely 
pleased  at  that  rather  necessary,  and,  as  she  considered  it,  most  appropriate  marriage. 

“ She  is  charming  and  penniless,  — he  is  nice  and  has  a nice  income,  — what  can  be 
more  suitable  ? ” demanded  Mrs.  Paynter.  “ Charming  women  without  money  are  or 
ought  to  be  the  destiny  of  men  who  have,  — those  are  their  affinities.  You  see  I study 
Sweuenborg  and  Spiritualism.  John  was  mine,  and  we  suit  ope  another  exactly;  ask 


112 


Two  Kisses. 


him.  He  don’t  mind  my  flirting.  He  doesn’t  bother  himself  much  about  me  unlesi 
I want  anything,  then  he  takes  any  amount  of  trouble  to  get  it  for  me.  As  I am 
always  wanting  something,  John  is  perpetually  interested  in  me.  I was  made  for  him. 
He  would  have  ceased  to  care  about  a woman  who  was  not  exigeante  as  myself. 
There’s  another  thing,”  — and  the  volatile  lady’s  face  softened  as  she  made  this  admis- 
sion, — “ dear  old  John  is  the  only  man  who  does  know  me,  both  the  worst  and  the 
best  of  me.” 

It  is  possible,  not  perhaps  very  uncommon,  for  man  and  woman  to  tread  life’s  path 
together,  and  never  comprehend  each  other  to  the  end. 

Si  You’ve  a veiy  pretty  house,  Cissy,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  on  her  first  visit, 
“ and  of  course  I think  the  situation  perfection.  It  is  near  me,  and  I am  perfection, 
you  know.  Besides,  it’s  delightful  to  have  you  established  so  close.  It  has  taken  me 
a. : this  time  to  get  over  your  surreptitious  wedding.  How  could  you  submit  to  such  a 
thing  ? I felt  a guilty  creature  for  days  afterwards,  — as  if  I had  assisted  at  something 
unlawful.  Did  you  feel  married  ? Do  you  feel  married  yet  ? ” 

“ Montague  and  I both  wished  a quiet  wedding,”  replied  Cissy,  laughing. 

“ I don’t  mind  quiet  weddings,”  rejoined  Mrs.  Paynter,  solemnly,  “ but  yours  was 
a clandestine  marriage.” 

“ Not  quite ; but  who  had  we  to  ask  ? You  and  your  husband  were  my  sole  friends 
in  London.  Montague  only  wanted  the  man  or  two  he  had,  Mr.  Brine  and  the 
others.” 

“ I never  saw  him  before,  but  I don’t  like  Mr.  Brine,”  returned  Mrs.  Paynter,  sen- 
tentiously.  “ A man  who  had  nothing  civil  to  say  to  a woman  who  looked  as  well  as 
I did  that  day  must  be  a monster,  — one  of  those  connecting  links  with  the  Zoological 
that  Mr.  Darwin  talks  about.” 

“ You  did  look  well,”  replied  Cissy,  with  a little  enthusiasm  of  the  Paris  days.  “ It 
should  have  been  a gay  wedding,  if  only  to  let  the  world  see  you.” 

“ My  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter,  with  a mock  expression  of  anguish,  “ I was  a 
poem,  — a poem  without  interpreters.  Let  us  drop  the  subject.  I shall  never  be  a 
poem  again,  let  my  modiste  do  her  utmost.  I don’t  want  to  be  indiscreet,  but  I pi^- 
Bume  you  find  Montague  all  you  wish  ? ” 

“ Kindness  itself.  He  consults  me  about  everything.  After  my  former  experience, 
you  may  suppose  what  a charm  such  deference  has  for  me,”  and  Cissy  experienced  a 
vague  feeling  of  annoyance.  What  business  had  Mrs.  Paynter  to  call  her  husband 
by  his  Christian  name  ? 

If  she  had  reflected,  she  would  have  remembered  that  Lizzie  was  rather  addicted 
to  speak  of  her  male  acquaintance  in  this  fashion. 

“ Yes,  he  was  always  perfect  in  that  way.  He  didn’t  affect  society  very  much,  but 
Montie  Gore  was  always  courtesy  itself,  when  he  had  to  deal  with  our  sex,”  replied 
Mrs.  Paynter,  musingly. 

Cissy  was  no  whit  better  pleased  by  this  remark.  She  did  not  care  to  hear  histori- 
ettes  of  her  husband’s  courtesy  to  others  before  she  knew  him.  Again,  his  Christian 


A Quintette. 


113 


name  was  her  property  now,  to  be  shared  only  with  authentic  relations.  What 
right  had  Mrs.  Paynter  to  use  this  diminutive,  — a thing  she  had  never  as  yet  allowed 
herself  to  do  ? 

“You  will  have  to  bring  him  out,  my  dear,”  exclaimed  Lizzie,  enthusiastically. 
u If  he  has  shirked  society  thus  far  the  loss  has  been  society’s.  He  can  talk  bril- 
liantly, when  he  chooses.  I know  no  one  I would  rather  be  taken  down  to  dinner  by 
than  your  husband.  He  was  always  adamant  till  he  met  you.  Impervious  to  our 
smiles,  but  pleasant.” 

She  was  literally  hardly  conscious  of  it,  but  there  floated  into  Cissy’s  mind,  as  her 
visitor  spoke,  the  misty  thought,  — had  Lizzie  Paynter  ever  tried  the  effects  of  her 
charms  upon  this  husband  of  hers  ? The  thought  was  so  vague,  so  indefinite,  that  if 
you  had  taxed  Cissy  with  it  at  the  moment  she  would  have  given  it  unqualifiec 
denial.  A mere  germ ; but  such  germs,  by  force  of  circumstances,  sometimes  flourish 
and  bear  fruit ; at  others,  nothing  assisting  them,  they  perish  in  the  mind  which  gave 
them  birth. 

“ You  have  known  Montague  for  some  years,  I suppose  ? ” inquired  Cissy,  carelessly 

“ Yes,  I really  forget  how  long  exactly ; but  we  certainly  are  old  acquaintance  now, 
— old  friends,  I hope  I may  say.  But  I am  forgetting  part  of  my  mission.  If  you 
have  nothing  else  to  do,  will  you  come  and  eat  your  dinner  with  us  to-morrow  ? You 
are  both  great  favorites  of  John’s,  and  I was  told  specially  to  catch  you,  if  I could.” 

“We  shall  be  delighted.” 

“ No  party,  you  know ; a stray  man  or  two,  perhaps,  if  I happen  to  come  across  any 
that  are  pleasant.  But,  between  you  and  me,  my  dear,  that’s  not  an  every-day 
occurrence,  so  there  will,  very  likely,  be  only  our  four  selves.” 

“ And  a.  very  merry  quartette  we  shall  be,  no  doubt,”  cried  Cissy,  gayly. 

“ Of  course  we  shall.  Tete-d-ttte  dinners  are  all  very  well,  but  one  requires  a little 
change  sometimes,  though  you  mustn’t  admit  it  as  yet.  Good-by.”  And,  with  a 
laighing  little  nod,  Mrs.  Paynter  took  her  departure. 

Apparently  that  lady’s  wanderings  had  been  unsuccessful,  for  the  next  night  saw 
her  dining-table  laid  for  four.  But  when  her  husband  returned,  just  in  time  to  dress, 
he  dashed  into  his  wife’s  room,  and  exclaimed : — 

“ Asked  a fellow  to  dinner,  Lizzie ; just  send  word  to  ’em  to  lay  another  plate,  will 
you  ? ” 

“ You  shall  be  obeyed,  my  lord,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  as  she  turned  to  give  the 
necessary  instructions  to  her  maid.  “ Who  is  it,  John  ? ” 

“ Only  Brine,  — the  fellow  we  met  at  Gore’s  wedding,  you  know.  I ran  against  him 
to-day,  and  he  said  he  hadn’t  seen  them  since  they  came  back ; didn’t  know  they  were 
back,  in  fact ; so  I said  he  had  better  come  and  meet  them  here  to-night.” 

“ 1 am  sorry  you  asked  him  here,”  replied  his  wife,  slowly. 

“ Why  ? He’s  a friend  of  Montague’s.  If  he  didn’t  admire  that  costume  as  much 
as  he  ought,  it’s  hardly  sufficient  reason  for  objecting  to  him,”  rejoined  her  husband, 

laughing. 


114 


Two  Kisses. 


“ It  is  a very  good  and  sufficient  reason,  sir,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter.  “ To  have  over 
looked  that  dress  showed  a want  of  sense  of  the  beautiful.  He  must  be  a gross, 
material,  male  creature.  No,  stop  one  moment,  John.  Listen;  I have  been  improv- 
ing my  mind  lately.  I have  been  reading;  and  this  is  what  one  of  our  greatest 
writers  says  : 1 Dress  is  so  essential  a thing  in  the  mind  of  a woman  that  no  man  who 
cares  about  women  ought  to  disdain  critical  study  of  it.’  ” 

“ Well,  my  dear,  it’s  getting  high  time  you  attended  to  it,  or  you’ll  not  itand 
criticising  to-night.  I’m  off.” 

“ As  a man  always  is  when  he  gets  the  worst  of  an  argument,”  cried  Lizzie. 

But  John  Paynter  detested  cold  soup,  and  vanished.  He  understood  his  wife  well, 
and  she  was  right  when  she  said  no  one  else  did.  Lizzie  had  better  stuff  in  her  than 
the  world  gave  her  credit  for. 

It  was  a very  merry  dinner  that.  Those  little  dinners  are  so  charming,  — where 
the  ball  of  conversation  is  kicked  around,  and  all  the  table  are  players,  — and,  more- 
over, fair  players ; where  intimacy  exists  among  the  convives  and  there  is  no  noted 
talker  to  oppress  their  spirits.  I have  always  thought  one  of  the  funniest  things  ever 
beheld  must  have  been  the  meeting  of  those  two  famous  professors  of  the  monologue, 
Madame  de  Stael  and  Coleridge ; according  to  tradition  it  was  like  a two-year  old 
race  at  Newmarket.  The  poet  jumped  off  with  the  lead,  and  the  lady  never  was  in 
it.  She  never  could  get  a word  in.  I suppose  it  all  depended  upon  who  spoke  first ; 
and  madame,  as  a lady,  must  have  had  the  choice  of  taking  the  initiative.  I don’t 
believe  she  ever  forgave  herself  for  the  mistake ; and  it  is  pretty  evident  that  she 
never  felt  friendly  to  Coleridge  afterwards. 

“ And  the  first  lion  thought  the  last  a bore,” 

is  a burlesque  line,  with  much  meaning  in  it. 

But  Lizzie  bends  her  head  to  Mrs.  Gore,  and  the  ladies  rise.  She  stops  for  a 
second  as  she  passes  her  husband,  and  whispers  in  his  ear,  “ Well,  sir,  am  I not  fit  to 
be  looked  at  now  ? ” then,  before  he  could  reply,  she  exclaimed  aloud,  “ Now, 
gentlemen,  don’t  sit  all  night  over  your  wine.  I’m  going  to  be  Bohemian  to-night, 
and  let  you  light  cigars  in  my  drawing-room.  Have  coffee  there,  John  ? ” 

“ Of  course ; order  it  in  half  an  hour,  and  tell  Bindon  to  let  us  know.” 

“ Deuced  glad  to  meet  you,  to-night,  Fox,”  said  Gore,  as  the  ladies  left  the  room. 
" I was  coming  down  to  see  you  to-morrow,  if  I hadn’t  run  against  you  so  provi- 
dentially. An  inspiration  of  yours,  Paynter,  asking  him  here.  The  fact  is,  I want 
you  to  go  down  to  Nottingham  for  me.  I am  so  far  in  arrears  with  work  myself,  that 
I cannot  spare  the  time.  You’ve  nothing  particular  to  do,  have  you  ? ” 

“Well,  I’m  busy.  I don’t  mean  but  what  it  could  stand  over  a bit,”  returned 
Brine.  “ Still,  I have  got  a plot  of  a three-volume  novel  on  the  stocks  that  I think 
will  be  a success.  I haven’t  quite  worked  it  out  yet,  but  I have  got  it  pretty  clearly, 
and  was  geing  at  it  this  next  fortnight.” 


A Quintette.  115 

“ IfjouYe  really  started  to  write,  I’ve  no  more  to  say.  1 know  what  interrupting 
a literary  man  is,  when  he  has  regularly  collared  his  subject.* * 

« No,  I’ve  not  exactly  begun.  I’ve  just  mapped  out  the  first  volume.  I can’t  say 
I’ve  fairly  laid  down  to  it.  Rather  a good  idea,  Montie,  though ; I’ll  just  tell  it  to  you. 
I should  like  to  know  what  you  fellows  think  of  it.  A man  marries  in  life,  and  his 
widow—” 

“ Halloa ! stop ! what  becomes  of  the  man  ? * 

“ How  should  I know  ? Dies,  of  course ; cholera,  railroads,  anything.  Petty 
details  are  the  sin  of  small  novelists.  Well,  his  widow  marries  again.  He  has  » 
child,  and  she  has  a child.” 

" They  had  two  children  is  the  usual  way  of  expressing  it,”  remarked  Gore. 

“ What  a fool  you  are ! Of  course,  her  child  is  by  the  first  marriage,  and  his  also/* 
“ But  we  know  nothing  about  him.” 

“ How  should  you  ? You’re  not  intended  to  till  the  end  of  the  second  volume.” 

“ But  oughtn’t  we  to  know  about  his  previous  marriage  ? ” inquired  John  Paynter 
“ God  bless  my  soul,  no ; eveiything  depends  upon  your  being  kept  in  ignorance 
a l that.  Well,  the  boy  and  girl,  being  brought  up  with  no  knowledge  of  each  other, 

fall  in  love.” 

“But  how  the  deuce  are* they  to  fall  in  love  if  they’ve  no  knowledge  of  each 
other  ? ” demanded  Gore. 

u Really,”  remarked  Brine,  with  the  utmost  serenity,  “ it  is  hopeless  to  explain 
the  salient  points  of  a plot  to  two  fellows  like  you.  I volunteer  a sketch,  and  you 
demand  a photograph.  They’ve  no  knowledge  of  their  connectionship,  of  course. 
Well,  just  as  things  are  getting  unpleasant  all  round,  the  rejected  lover,  who  has 
made  a large  fortune  in  America,  turns  up.” 

“ But  we’ve  never  heard  of  him  as  yet,”  exclaims  Gore. 

u Of  course  you  haven’t.  How  could  you  ? He  doesn’t  appear  till  this  stage  of 
the  story.  One  would  think  you  expected  to  find  it  all  in  the  preface.  Real  art,  sir, 
is  to  spring  your  effects  like  a mine.” 

“ How  did  he  make  his  fortune  ? ” asked  John  Paynter,  sententiously. 

“ There  you  go  again ! details,  details,  always  details.  Men  who  paint  landscapes 
don’t  paint  miniatures.  The  best  likenesses  of  Oliver  Crom  well  were  not  those  which 
particularized  his  warts.  How  should  I know  how  he  made  his  wealth  ? Went  gold- 
digging, or  pig-sticking,  or  something.  I tell  you  he  made  his  fortune.” 

“ I give  in,”  returned  Gore,  laughing.  “ Go  on,  Fox.” 

“ Oh,  it’s  no  use  going  on,”  replied  that  gentleman.  “ If  you’re  not  in  the  profes- 
sion you  can’t  understand  these  things.  Any  fellow  that  wrote  would  comprehend  it 
ah  in  a second.  Never  mind.  Now,  Montie,  let’s  have  your  plot,  or  hear  what  you 
want  done.  Do  you  wish  me  to  once  more  interview  the  peripatetic  Turbottle  ? He 
is  the  great  fact  left  in  my  mind  connected  with  Nottingham.” 

M No,  never  mind  him.  But  you  know  l told  you  some  time  back  that  I had  a 


116 


Two  Kisses. 


tangled  skein  to  unravel.  I want  to  find  the  relatives  of  a certain  Mark  Hems  worth ; 
and  I fancy,  from  what  I hear,  that  they  are  to  be  discovered  in  Nottinghamshire.” 

“ Why,  that  was  your  wife’s  name,”  said  Brine. 

“ Yes ; and  it’s  her  late  husband’s  family  I want  to  get  hold  of.  I have  a strong 
belief  that  she  had  a marriage-settlement,  though  as  yet  I have  found  neither  the 
deed  nor  the  trustees.  Now  her  father,  who  has  vanished  altogether,  is  probably  one ; 
but  search  for  him  seems  hopeless.  One  has  no  idea  where  to  begin,  supposing  that 
he  is  still  alive.  But  the  other  trustee  might  perhaps  be  one  of  the  Hemsworth 
people ; or,  at  all  events,  they  might  know  something  concerning  the  affair.  If  I am 
right  in  my  conjecture,  the  settlement,  if  settlement  there  were,  was  on  property  in 
this  country,  and  I’ll  tell  you  why.”  And  then  Gore  related  to  his  companions  the 
slender  data  upon  which  he  had  founded  his  conclusion. 

Brine  listened  attentively,  and  when  the  narrator  finished,  exclaimed : — 

“ I’ll  go  in  for  this,  Montie.  I think  doing  detective  will  be  rather  good  fun,  and 
ought  to  lead  to  some  striking  situations.” 

“ Such  as  being  pitched  out  of  windows,”  chimed  in  John  Paynter. 

“You  have  no  taste  for  dramatic  art,  sir,”  rejoined  Brine,  “or  you  tfouldn’*, 
imagine  that  I could  lend  myself  to  such  a coarse  farcical  incident.” 

“ Tell  us  whether  you  think  it  farcical  when  you  get  to  the  bottom,”  grinned  Mr 
Paynter. 

“ You  don’t  understand  the  natural  tact  with  which  your  obedient  servant  is  gifted,” 
.ontinued  Brine,  scarce  heeding  the  interruption.  “ I’ll  cross-examine  Nottingham- 
shire as  if  I was  a revising  barrister.  Montie,  my  boy,  I have  acted  in  the  ‘ Scrap  of 
Paper.’  We’ll  make  a glorious  drama  out  of  this  note-book  incident.  Superb,  by 
Jove ! I feel  it  simmering  in  my  brain  already.  It  will  haunt  my  pillow.  Consider 
the  thing  done.  I’ll  find  a dozen  Ilemsworths,  and  the  difficulty  shall  be  to  discover 
which  is  the  right  one.  Don’t  you  think  that  would  be  a point,  eh  ? ” 

“ If  you’d  think  of  my  wife’s  interests,  and  not  of  an  imaginary  drama,  I should 
call  it  a point,”  rejoined  Gore. 

“ Of  course,”  said  the  imperturbable  Brine.  “ But  Mrs.  Gore’s  interests  and  the 
playgoing  public’s  are  one  upon  this  occasion.  Don’t  be  afraid,  Montie,  I’m  not  quite 
a fool,  if  I am  imaginative.  I’ll  ferret  out  what  you  want,  and  discover  Hems  worth’s 
relations,  if  he  has  any.” 

“Well,  now  let  us  go  upstairs  to  coffee,”  said  the  host. 

“ At  last,  Mr.  Gore,”  exclaimed  Lizzie,  as  they  entered  the  drawing-room.  “ What 
I should  call  a very  liberal  rendering  of  half  an  hour.  Nonsense ! no  apology ; of 
course  I’m  jesting,”  she  continued,  as  Montague  showed  symptoms  of  pleading 
extenuating  circumstances.  “ I am  only  too  glad  you  found  John's  wine  decent ; you 
know  of  old  that  I like  my  guests  to  be  happy  in  their  own  way,  and  that  the  greatest 
compliment  you  can  pay  me  is  to  let  me  see  you’ve  passed  a pleasant  evening.  Now 
come  and  talk  to  me.  I want  to  investigate  you  in  your  new  character.” 


Charlie  Detfield's  Affairs. 


117 


“ Want  to  sec  what  a wife’s  done  for  me,”  returned  Gore,  laughing,  as  he  dropped 
into  an  casy-chair  next  his  hostess. 

“Light  your  cigar,  — you  see  John  has,  — and  then  you  can  talk  as  if  you  were 
not  married.” 

Now  a quintette  is  sometimes  a very  awkward  number  should  the  conversation 
cease  to  be  general,  and  the  party  not  be  all  intimates. 

Mrs.  Paynter’s  drawing-room  was  destined  to  furnish  an  example  of  this.  The 
hostess  has  settled  down  to  a pleasant  tete-d-tete  with  Montague  Gore.  Cissy  and 
John  Paynter  would  probably  have  done  likewise,  but  Brine,  in  self-defence,  was 
compelled  to  make  a third  in  their  conversation.  He  was  the  discord  in  that  trio. 
Brine  was  a thorough  man  of  the  world,  and  could  talk  fluently  on  most  topics,  and 
yet  it  would  seem  as  if  he  had  “ agreed  to  disagree  ” with  his  two  companions  about 
everything.  He  was  wont  to  be  rather  dogmatic  in  his  opinions,  — a failing  always 
irritating  to  women,  should  you  differ  from  them,  because  they  also  are  generally 
strongly  wedded  to  their  ideas.  James  Smith  used  to  assert  that  his  politics  were 
always  the  same  as  those  of  the  lady  he  took  down  to  dinner.  It  is  good  to  modify 
one’s  opinions  in  like  manner.  Brine  was  also  given  to  live  more  amongst  men  than 
in  general  society;  a not  uncommon  result  of  which  is  the  loss  of  that  habit  of 
deference  to  their  remarks,  so  much  appreciated  by  all  women.  Certain  it  was  that 
Cissy  and  he  conceived  a mutual  dislike  for  one  another  upon  this,  one  may  say,  their 
first  time  of  meeting ; for,  except  at  her  wedding,  Brine  had  never  seen  his  friend’s 
wife.  John  Paynter,  too,  was  conscious  that  the  talk  was  somehow  spoiled,  and  not 
altogether  to  Mrs.  Gore’s  taste,  and  characterized  Mr.  Brine  to  his  wife  afterwards  as 
an  “ argumentative  cuss.” 

That  gentleman,  as  he  wended  his  way  leisurely  home  to  the  Temple,  shook  his 
head,  and  hoped  Montie  Gore  might  not  some  day  think  he  had  better  have  remained 
unmarried. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

CHARLIE  DETFIELD’S  AFFAIRS. 

Belief  in  himself  is  one  of  those  things  without  which  a man  never  achieves, 
anything.  “ Ilfaut  sefaire  valoir  ” ought  to  be  inscribed  on  every  young  man’s  ban- 
ner. It  by  no  means  follows  that  such  belief  is  not  misplaced,  but  it  is  so  much  better 
to  hold  as  a creed  than  mistrust  in  one’s  abilities,  that  I cannot  help  thinking  conceit 
to  be  by  no  means  a bad  stock  in  trade  for  a man  in  the  commencement  of  his  career. 
Of  course  it  may  be  overdone ; but  the  world  very  soon  corrects  that  fault,  while  the 
other,  — ah ! have  we  not  all  seen  men’s  lives  marred  by  that  other  ? As  Hazlitt  said, 
“ the  apprentice  who  did  not  think  he  would  one  day  be  Lord  Mayor  was  bound  to 
be  hong.” 


118 


Two  Kisses. 


Fox  Brine  had  never  achieved  anything,  but  there  never  was  a man  who  believed 
more  implicitly  in  himself.  He  was  quite  convinced  that,  whenever  he  had  time  to 
finish  off  these  dramas,  or  novels,  that  he  conceived  with  a prolificness  utterly  bewil- 
dering to  his  friends,  he  should  awake  like  Byron  and  find  himself  famous.  But, 
somehow,  he  never  did  find  time.  It  is,  perhaps,  a little  astonishing,  but  those  who 
succeed  in  such  things  always  do  find  time. 

Mr.  Brine  emerges  from  his  bath,  radiant  as  the  sun-god,  the  morning  after  his 
dinner  at  Mrs.  Paynter’s,  ready  to  write,  to  argue,  to  do,  or  to  die.  He  jots  down  a 
few  ideas  for  a buffo  song,  as  he  continues  his  toilet,  and  is  not  without  an  inspiration 
concerning  a prologue  for  some  amateur  theatricals,  to  which  he  stands  pledged ; 
thinks,  indeed,  he  will  knock  off  that  prologue  after  breakfast.  He  is  always  going 
to  knock  off  something  after  breakfast,  but  complains  that  he  never  can  get  a minute 
to  himself.  Still  he  feels  in  the  vein  this  morning,  and  really  an  hour  will  be  sufficient 
to  carry  out  that  intention.  Meantime  some  devilled  kidneys  and  an  anchovy,  fol- 
lowed  by  the  sedative  of  a pipe,  is  just  the  preparation  that  a man  who  means  work 
would  naturally  prescribe  for  himself. 

The  meal  satisfactorily  disposed  of,  the  pipe  fairly  under  way,  and  Mr.  Brine  put9 
out  his  writing  materials.  He  traces  the  word  prologue  in  bold,  large  characters  at 
the  top  of  a sheet,  and  then  sits  looking  contemplatively  at  it,  smoking  placidly  while 
he  does  so.  Somehow,  those  ideas  which  came  so  easily  to  him  in  his  bath  all  seem 
to  have  evaporated  now  that  he  has  a pen  in  his  hand. 

“ Most  courteous  friends,  I make  my  bow  before  you  — 

Hang  it,  that  won’t  do.  It  doesn’t  sound  original.  Besides,  4 bore  you  ’ is  the  only 
rhyme  I can  think  of  just  now.  Suppose  we  shall,  but  it’ll  never  do  to  tell  ’em  so  to 
start  with.  Extraordinary  thing,  inspiration;  I lost  the  thread  while  I was  peppering 
that  second  kidney.  To  think  that  a mere  kidney  might  suppress  a poem. 

“ O gracious  friends,  who  grace  our  play  to-night  — 

•put  to  flight,’  ‘bite,’  no,  that  won’t  do.  Very  curious;  my  rhythmical  powers  are 
usually  of  a high  order.  The  fount  of  song  seems  dried  within  me  this  morning. 

“ O stalls  and  boxea,  pit  and  gallery,  haill 
We  come  before  you  with  a favoring  gale. 

That’s  startling,  if  not  quite  connected. 

“ Our  dramatic  craft  has  got  the  wind  abaft  her, 

Her  sails  are  bellying  out  with  tears  and  laughter. 

That’s  a good,  bold  simile,  if  they  only  understand  it.  Quite  Dibdinesque  in  the  turn  of 
expression.  The  devil  of  it  is,  it  don’t  seem  to  lead  to  anything.  Perhaps,  if  I took  a 


119 


Charlie  Detfield's  Affairs. 

turn,  ideas  would  flow  again.”  So  saying,  Mr.  Brine  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked 
up  and  down  his  room  a little.  Then  he  stopped,  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
became  interested  in  an  altercation  between  a pot-boy  and  a solicitor’s  clerk,  that  was 
being  conducted  with  considerable  asperity  in  the  court-yard  below.  Having  seen  this 
little  difference  satisfactorily  adjusted,  Mr.  Brine  indulged  in  some  comments  on  the 
degeneracy  of  the  English  race.  In  his  opinion,  the  clerk  ought  to  have  summarily 
chastised  his  opponent, — “ punched  his  head,”  I think  was  tne  way  Mr.  Brine  put  it 
to  himself. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  as  well  knock  od  hat  wroloe^ 

“ Laden  we  are  with  comedy  and  farce, 

Yourselves  the  custom-house  we  hope  to  pass.” 

“ Hum ! ” mused  the  writer,  as  he  added  the  above  couplet,  “ if  those  are  not  reg- 
ular prologue  lines,  I don’t  know  what  are.  They  are  neither  common-sense  nor 
English,  which  is  always  a presumed  hit  in  an  amateur’s  prologue.  I don’t  get  on 
quite  so  fast  as  I might,  but  the  composition  of  high-class  poetry  involves  labor; 
yes,  and  now  I come  to  think  of  it,  beer ; ” with  which  Mr.  Brine  winked  pleasantly 
at  his  inkstand,  as  if  that  article,  from  long  experience,  could  quite  enter  into  the  joke, 
and  then  proceeded  to  shout  for  a myrmidon  of  some  kind  down  the  staircase.  That 
individual  at  last  appearing,  and  being  despatched  in  search  of  the  required  refresh- 
ment, Fox  Brine  began  once  more  to  pace  his  chamber  in  pursuit  of  ideas. 

Suddenly  there  was  a sharp  tap  at  the  door,  to  which,  deeming  it  to  herald  the  return 
of  the  messenger,  Brine,  without  turning  his  head,  briefly  answered : — 

“ Put  it  down ! ” 

“ Down  it  are,”  replied  Charlie  Detfield,  flinging  himself  into  an  arm-chair. 

“ Holloa ! it’s  you,  is  it  ? By  Jove ! I’m  hard  at  work,  you  know.” 

“ Exactly,  and  getting  awfully  thirsty  over  it.  I overtook  the  fellow  with  the  tank- 
ard, on  the  last  landing,  and  it  looked  so  cool,  and  the  stairs  so  steep,  that  I drained  it 
to  give  me  strength  for  the  remainder  of  the  ascent.” 

“ You  did  ? ” said  Brine,  surveying  his  visitor.  “ If  the  beer  was  about  half  as  cool 
as  you,  it  must  have  gone  down  pleasantly.” 

Charlie  nodded. 

“ Never  mind ; I sent  him  back  for  some  more.  I’ve  come  to  have  a talk  with  you.' 

“ Fellows  always  do  directly  I sit  down  to  work.  I shall  have  to  change  my  abode, 
and  rent  the  top  of  the  monument,  or  the  diving-bell  at  the  Polytechnic,  or  some 
other  retired  locality.” 

“ Don’t  be  edgy,  Fox ; I want  to  talk  over  my  affairs  a bit.” 

“ All  right,”  replied  Brine,  throwing  himself  full  length  on  a sofa.  “ I am  at  your 
service,  old  fellow,  to  the  extent  of  my  abilities  all  round,  you  know.  But  Charlie, 
we  never  do  make  anything  out  of  it,  when  we  talk  over  your  difficulties,  beyond 
the  fact  that  you  are  dipped  past  redemption.  By  the  way,”  he  continued,  philo- 


120 


Two  Kisses. 


Bophically,  “ ‘ it  is  very  curious,  but  you  never  hear  a prosperous  man  anxious  to  talk 
over  his  affairs  with  a friend.  There ’d  be  some  comfort,  too,  in  a discussion  of  that 
kind.” 

“ Of  course  you  don’t,”  retorted  Charlie.  “ You  don’t  see  healthy  men  wishing  to 
consult  doctors ; it’s  when  we  are  ill  we  unburden  ourselves  of  the  history  of  ou/ 
infirmities.  Impecuniosity  i^  my  complaint,  and  I want  advice.” 

“ No,  you  don’t,  Char*>  want  money ; there’s  plenty  of  advice  about,  if  that’s 
any  good  to 

itjoat.  -<•  sometimes.  You  prescribed  for  me  the  other  day,  you 

Kaov*  -t  a 9ksr  t rat  all  the  friends  who  are  aware  of  how  awfully  hard 

up  I am,  gr**  w n.  *arae  advice.” 

“ What,  — uO  marry  money  ? ” 

“Just  so.  I didn’t  take  kindly  to  the  idea  at  first,  but  desperate  causes  demand 
desperate  remedies.  1 have  made  up  my  mind.” 

“ Good ! you  are  going  in  for  an  heiress,”  remarked  Brine,  sententiously.  “ Now, 
there’s  very  often  a terrible  flaw  in  the  advice  your  friends  give  you  on  that  point. 
My  prescription,  I remember,  was  deficient  in  one  necessary  ingredient.  People  tell 
you  to  many  an  heiress ; that  indefinite  article  is  the  devil.  If  they  would  point  out 
the  heiress.” 

“I  can’t  complain  on  that  point.  The  lady  has  been  indicated.  I have  been 
properly  introduced.  I am  making  love  to  her  now,”  rejoined  the  guardsman, 
languidly. 

“ You  are  ? ” said  Brine,  eying  him  keenly.  “ If  you  don’t  throw  a little  more 
steam  into  talking  to  her  than  you  do  into  talking  of  her,  I wouldn’t  take  twenty  to 
one  about  your  chance,  my  boy.” 

“We  are  only  in  the  early  stage  of  courtship  at  present,”  replied  Charlie,  speaking 
as  tranquilly  as  if  he  was  talking  of  something  in  which  he  had  no  personal  concern. 
It  would  never  do  to  frighten  the  old  lady  by  being  too  demonstrative.” 

“ Ah ! she’s  a little  old,  is  she  ? What  do  you  call  old  now  ? ” 

“ Well,  you  see,  I don’t  know  her  age  exactly.  Mrs.  Paynter  vows  she’s  old 
enough  to  be  my  mother ; but  that’s  a libel.  You  know  how  women  talk.  She’s  a 
good  bit  older  than  me,  though.” 

“ Of  course,  if  you  go  for  money,  you  can’t  have  everything.  By  the  way,  I dam 
say  you  met  Mrs.  Gore  before  her  marriage  ? ” 

“ Yes,  two  or  three  times,  when  she  was  Mrs.  Hemsworth.  She  was  a good  deal  at 
the  Paynters*.” 

“ What  do  you  think  of  her,  Charlie  ? ” 

“ I thought  her  a particularly  agreeable,  graceful  woman.  I should  fancy  Core  a 
fortunate  man  in  his  wife.”  -Oi  cj 

“ I’m  glad  you  think  so.  He’s  a very  dear  friend  of  mine.  Should  have  been 
tomething  nearer,  as  you,  of  course,  know.  But  I can’t  say  I did  fancy  Mrs.  Gom 


121 


Charlie  Detfield's  Affairs. 

'/hen  I met  her  the  other  night.  However,  that’s  neither  here  nor  there,  and  I hope 
I’m  all  wrong  in  the  opinion  I formed  of  her.” 

“ I haven’t  a doubt  of  it.  She’s  as  pleasant  a woman  to  talk  to  as  I ever  met,  and  I 
am  not  quite  sure  whether  she  isn’t  a very  handsome  one  to  boot;  I know  if  ever  I 
thought  she  wasn’t,  I always  recanted  after  talking  to  her  for  five  minutes.  Did  you 
ever  make  out  anything  about  Major  Jenkens  for  me  ? ” 

“ No,”  replied  Brine,  with  considerable  animation.  “ The  major  is  dark  — very 
dark.  I have  talked  to  a good  many  people  regarding  him.  That  he’s  a rather  shy 
lot,  I’ve  no  doubt ; but  I can’t  pick  up  anything  tangible  about  him.  There  are  men 
who  abuse  him  freely,  and  hint  that  he  has  been  guilty  of  all  sorts  of  enormities ; but, 
when  you  come  to  go  into  particulars,  they  can  only  whisper  mysterious  accounts  of 
his  having  now  and  then  won  goodish  stakes  at  play,  and  that  he  is  well  known  to 
the  bill-discounters.  Sharp  practitioner  they  call  him,  but  nobody  seems  able  to 
allege  any  instance  of  peculiarly  sharp  practice  on  his  part.  That  he’s  a bird  of  prey 
I think  probable ; but,  at  all  events,  he  does  his  ravening  decorously.  Don’t  under- 
stand his  taking  such  an  interest  in  your  marrying,  Charlie.” 

“ Nor  I.  He  certainly  never  lent  me  money ; but,  of  course,  he  may  be  a partner 
in  the  transaction.  He  told  me  who  to  go  to,  but  affects  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it.  Professes  simply  to  buy  and  sell  on  commission  anything,  — houses,  horses, 
carriages,  white  elephants,  or  white  mice.  You’ve  seen  him,  I think  you  said  ? ” 

“ Yes ; two  or  three  times  in  the  park,  — the  other  afternoon  only.” 

“ Was  he  wearing  spectacles  ? ” asked  Charlie,  laughing. 

“ No,  certainly  not.  Does  he  sometimes  ? ” 

“Yes;  and  I’d  almost  bet  you  a sovereign  you  wouldn’t  know  him  when  thus 
decorated.  I never  saw  a man  that  it  made  such  a difference  to.  I don’t  believe  the 
old  villain  wants  them  at  all,  and  when  he  has  got  them  on  I defy  you  to  make  any- 
thing out  of  his  face.” 

“ It  didn’t  strike  me  as  a face  you  would  make  much  out  of  any  way,”  rejoined 
Brine,  meditatively.  “ But  as  far  as  he  bears  on  your  affairs  there  is  no  more  to  be 
said  at  present.  I should  like  to  know  something  more  of  this  wooing  of  yours.” 

“ It  goes  on  smoothly  and  tranquilly.  I pay  my  visits  to  Barnsbuiy  park  whenever 
I am  not  on  duty  or  specially  engaged.” 

“ And  you  find  you  progress  favorably  with  the  old  — beg  pardon,  I mean  the 
lady  ? ” 

s<  Yes.  I assure  you  she’s  a very  nice  person.  I like  her  immensely.  Very 
pleasant  to  talk  to.  She  suits  me  admirably  in  every  respect  but  one.” 

“And  that  is  ? ” 

“Well,  she’d  make  such  a charming  aunt  or  mother-in-law,  it  seems  a pity  that 
necessity  compels  me  to  make  hen  a wife.  I could  get  so  fond  of  her  from  any  othei 
point  of  view.  But  what  must  be,  must,  I suppose.” 

“ You  find  it  rather  hard  work,  I presume,  then ! ” exclaimed  Brine,  laughing. 

“ Not  at  all ; as  I said  before,  shejs  remarkably  pleasant.  Then  the  elder  sister  it 


122 


Two  Kisses. 


extremely  amusing,  quite  a character;  and  as  for  the  niece,  — Bessie  Stanbury  is 
simply  charming ! You  never  saw  such  a sweet  girl,  Fox.  Her  figure  is  perfect, 
and  her  eyes  simply  swim  in  their  own  loveliness,”  concluded  Charlie,  after  a short 
pause. 

“ Holloa ! I say,  this  won’t  do,  you  know ! ” exclaimed  Brine,  springing  up  from 
his  sofa.  “We  know  perfectly  well  what  the  result  is  in  all  comedies,  when  a man 
makes  love  to  the  aunt,  and  a bewitching  niece  appears  upon  the  scene.  My  <£ear 
Charlie,  if  this  is  your  idea  of  going  in  for  money,  you  won’t  make  much  of  the 
speculation.” 

“ By  Jove ! you  should  see  her  on  horseback,  old  fellow ! She  can  sit  her  horse, 
and  never  looks  better  than  she  doe3  in  her  riding-habit.” 

“ I have  no  doubt  Miss  Bessie  Stanbury  is  all  you  describe  her ; but  it  strikes  me 
you  are  making  a fool  of  yourself,”  said  Brine,  gravely.  “ Under  the  delusion  that 
you  are  laying  siege  to  the  aunt,  it  looks  as  if  you  were  falling  over  head  and  ears  in 
love  with  the  niece.  That’s  not  whist,  Charlie.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! I know  what  I am  about,”  rejoined  Detfield,  pettishly.  “ Of 
course  I must  talk  to  the  girl  when  she  is  present.  Besides,  it  is  not  forbidden,  even 
when  married,  to  admire  a pretty  woman  when  you  meet  one,  much  less  when  you 
are  only  going  to  be.” 

“ If  you  don’t  confine  your  admiration  to  the  woman  you  seek  to  marry,  it’s  odds 
she  is  never  your  bride,  Master  Charlie.  You  don’t  suppose  the  aunt  will  approve 
of  your  making  sheep’s  eyes  at  the  niece,  do  you  ? and  you  can’t  be  such  a fool 
as  to  suppose  a woman  will  overlook  that  ? ” 

“ Never  you  mind,  Fox,”  replied  Detfield,  lazily.  “ It’s  no  use  your  preaching. 
Depend  upon  it,  if  a man  can’t  manage  to  win  a woman  himself,  no  male  creature  can 
teach  him  the  trick  of  it.  Besides,  Miles  Standish  always  made  a great  impression 
on  me.  I determined  long  ago  never  to  ask  masculine  help  in  my  wooing.  It’s 
awkward  when  the  lady  makes  response  to  such  assistance  with  * Why  don’t  you 
speak  for  yourself,  John  ? ’ You  leave  me  to  manage  my  own  affairs.” 

“ Why,  you  ungrateful  beggar ! ” exclaimed  Brine,  bursting  into  a roar  of  laugh- 
ter. “ That’s  the  way  of  the  world  all  over.  You  come  here  bothering  for  advice, 
and  wind  up  by  requesting  I’ll  leave  you  to  manage  your  own  affairs.  It’?  too 
absurd.” 

“ So  it  is,”  replied  Charlie,  joining  in  the  laugh  against  himself,  “ and  we  have 
arrived  at  the  old  conclusion,  as  you  said  we  should,  to  wit,  * that  I am  past  redemp- 
tion;’ further  than  that  we  never  get.  I tell  you  what,  old  fellow,  the  luxury 
of  talking  ’em  over  with  a sympathetic  friend  is  just  the  one  pull  of  being  in 
difficulties.” 

“Hear  him!”  cried  Brine.  “The  serene  philosophy  of  a virtuous  nature  that  — 


“ * Bee*  sermons  in  stones  and  good  in  everything.' 


Whom  Does  He  Come  to  See?  123 

One  o’clock,  by  Jove ! I must  put  up  my  traps.  I’m  off  to  Nottingham  this  after- 
noon on  business.” 

“ Pack  away,”  observed  Charlie,  placidly.  “ I’ll  look  on.” 

Brine’s  arrangements  were  soon  made,  and  the  myrmidon  despatched  for  a cab. 
As  the  two  friends  shook  hands,  Brine  paused  for  a moment,  and  then  said : — 

“ This  is  not  advice,  Charlie,  but  prophecy.  Mark  me,  you’ll  marry  the  wrong 
lady.” 

“ What,  of  those  two  ? ” 

**  Of  those  two.  Of  course,  I speak  with  regard  to  your  difficulties.” 

“ Exactly.  I’ll  bet  you  five  pounds  I don’t.” 

“ Done ! ” replied  Brine ; and  his  good-by  was  lo9t  in  the  rattle  of  the  hansom’s 
wheels. 

CHAPTER  XX I II. 

WHOM  DOES  HE  COME  TO  SEE  ? 

Charlie  Detfield,  as  may  be  easily  surmised,  has  paid  a good  many  visits 
to  Barnsbury  park  lately.  He  has,  moreover,  contrived  to  meet  Bessie  on  several 
occasions  in  her  rides,  and  has  substituted  a neat  hack  for  the  unfortunate  bicycle, 
— his  “ first  attempt  at  economy,”  as  he  observes,  pathetically,  “ crushed  beneath 
the  wheels  of  the  people’s  Juggernaut.”  Miss  Bessie,  who  detests  street  cars, 
instigated  thereto  in  some  measure  by  Velvet’s  disdain  of  those  vehicles,  vows 
that  expression  is  most  poetical.  But  that  young  lady  is  scarce  to  be  counted  a 
fair  judge  of  Charlie  Detfield’s  sayings  and  doings  just  now.  She  has  met  him,  too, 
it  more  than  one  dinner  and  dance,  contrived  by  the. sagacious  Robxy  with  a view  of 
throwing  the  oung  couple  together.  Charlie  no  longer  despises  invitations  beyond 
that  famous  outpost,  “ the  Angel.” 

“ It  is  his  duty  to  continue  his  pursuit  of  Aunt  Clem,”  he  says  to  himself.  “ That 
Bessie  should  always  figure  at  these  entertainments  under  her  wing  is  a coincidence. 
Coincidences  have  considerable  effect  on  our  lives,  but  people  never  realize  nor  dream 
how  they  themselves  contribute  to  coincidences.” 

Although  Detfield  invariably  paid  Aunt  Clem  great  attention,  it  cannot  be  suppose 
that  Bessie  attached  much  significance  to  that.  What  tact  he  had,  she  thought,  thu 
to  propitiate  her  chaperone ; and  Miss  Clementina,  pleased  as  she  was  at  the  studied 
courtesies  of  the  young  guardsman,  only  considered  them  an  indirect  tribute  to  her 
pretty  niece. 

If  Aunt  Clem  did  not  consider  that  her  dancing  days  were  over,  and  that  matri- 
monial chances  were  not  as  yet  altogether  beyond  her  attainment,  still  she  had  never 
pictured  a man  of  Charlie  Detfield’s  years  as  an  aspirant  to  her  hand.  If  the  elder 
Misses  Stanbury  were  not  so  rich  as  their  niece,  yet  they  had  a comfortable  ten  thou- 


124 


Two  Kisses. 


sand  pounds  apiece ; and  Aunt  Clem  did  know  that  there  were  middle-aged  men  wh4 
would  consider  that  and  a good-natured  woman  of  her  years  a most  desirable 
acquisition. 

But  Captain  Detfield’s  frequent  visits  began  to  attract  the  attention  of  Miss  Matilda. 
She  liked  the  young  guardsman,  dropping  in  with  his  light,  lively  gossip.  He  always 
paid  her  a deference,  which  impressed  her  very  favorably  towards  him.  Suddenly 
the  idea  flashed  across  Miss  Matilda : — 

“ What  does  he  mean  by  all  this  continuous  calling  ? Young  gentlemen  of  his  age 
don’t  come  twice  a week  or  so  to  see  a lady  of  my  years,  be  she  ever  so  lively.”  And 
Aunt  Matilda  considered  that  she  could  talk,  although  such  frivolous  conversation  as 
held  sway  when  Charlie  Detfield  was  in  the  drawing-room  was  rather  beneath  her. 
M Now,  which  was  it,  — that  giddy-minded  sister  of  hers,  or  the  child,  that  was  the 
attraction  ? ” Miss  Matilda  always  regarded  Aunt  Clem  as  a flighty  woman,  who 
ought  to  be  slightly  ashamed  of  herself  for  her  caprices ; not  too  old  to  marry,  by 
any  means,  but  who  ought  really  to  think  of  giving  up  dancing,  and  so  on.  As  for 
Bessie,  she  persistently  looked  upon  her  as  a girl  too  young  for  any  man  to  think 
seriously  about ; but  she  had  observed,  she  thought,  a levity  about  Captain  Detfield 
that  made  it  just  possible  he  might  be  amusing  himself  by  flirting  with  the  child. 

Miss  Matilda  conceived  that  it  was  her  duty  to  clear  up  all  doubts  on  the  subject 
forthwith. 

“ The  sooner  the  better,”  she  said  to  herself.  " Unpleasantness,  if  it’s  going  to  b* 
unpleasantness,  like  meat  in  hot  weather,  gets  very,  very  unpleasant  the  longer  you 
keep  it.” 

At  five-o’clock  tea  that  day  she  opened  her  battery. 

“ Young  women,”  she  observed,  — “ though  to  call  a chit  like  you  a young  woman, 
Bessie,  is  a moral  absurdity,  — I want  to  know  who  it  is  that  Captain  Detfield  comes 
here  to  see.” 

“ I suppose  all  of  us,”  replied  Aunt  Clem,  laughing.  “ Give  me  some  more  sugar, 
Bessie.” 

“ Do  you  ? Then  i regret  to  say,  Clementina,  you’re  a fool.  He  doesn’t  come  here 
to  see  me.” 

“ You’re  not  polite;  and  you  are  not  all  of  us,”  rejoined  Aunt  Clem,  flushing 
I lightly. 

“ You  think  he  comes  to  see  you,  then  ? ” inquired  Miss  Matilda,  sharply. 

“ I have  never  thought  at  all  about  it,  and  most  assuredly  never  that,”  returned 
Miss  Clementina. 

If  her  aunt  had  flushed  Bessie  Stanbury  had  felt  that  she  was  becoming  scarlet  all 
over  at  Miss  Matilda’s  abrupt  interrogatories.  But  the  youngest  women  are  cunning 
of  fence,  when  you  touch  upon  their  affections.  She  turned  her  head  after  a second 
or  two,  and  said,  demurely,  — the  little  hypocrite ! — 

“ Well,  Aunt  Clem,  I think  you  ought  to  take  this  into  consideration.  He  does  pay 
you  a deal  of  attention,  you  know.” 


Whom  Does  He  Come  to  See  f 


125 


There  was  a merry  twinkle  in  Miss  Clementina’s  eyes,  as  she  repJed,  with  great 
solemnity : — 

“ Now  I reflect  upon  it,  he  does.  Matilda  is  convinced  that  she  is  not  the  attraction. 
Bessie  seems  to  think  I am.  I suppose,  then,  I am  the  one  that  he  comes  to  see.” 

« Good  hoavens ! Clementina,  and,  thinking  that,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ? ” 
inquired  Miss  Matilda,  breathlessly. 

“ It  is  a veiy  difficult  question  to  answer.  I really  don’t  know.  I should  like  to 
know  what  you  both  think ; for  at  present  nothing  occurs  to  me  beyond  being  always 
glad  to  see  him ; and,  terrible  to  confess  though  it  may  be,  I am.” 

“ What ! — you  think  of  marrying  that  boy  ? ” shrieked  Miss  Matilda. 

“ He’s  not  a boy  exactly,”  observed  Bessie,  laughing. 

“ And,  oh,  dear ! he  hasn’t  asked  me  yet,”  exclaimed  Miss  Clementina,  with  an  arch 
glance  at  Bessie.  “ Do  you  think  he  will  ? ” 

“ Yes,  I do,”  retorted  that  young  lady.  “ And  he  won’t  take  1 No  ’ for  an  answer, 
Aunt  Clem ; and  you’ll  not  give  him  * No  ’ to  take,  — that’s  another  thing.  And  mind, 
I will  be  a bridesmaid.” 

“ You  won’t,  my  dear,”  cried  Aunt  Clem,  throwing  herself  back  in  her  chair,  and 
indulging  in  a peal  of  laughter. 

“ Clementina,  your  conduct  is  positively  indecent,”  said  Miss  Matilda,  drawing  her- 
self up  in  her  most  stately  manner ; and  how  stately  she  could  be,  when  irritated,  was 
scarcely  to  be  conceived.  Nothing  ever  did  exasperate  the  good  lady  so  much  as  a 
dim  idea  that  a joke  was  being  carried  on  at  her  expense. 

u What ! ” replied  Miss  Clementina,  recovering  her  gravity ; “ because  I am  reflecting 
what  answer  I am  to  give  to  an  important  question  ? ” 

“It  must  be  entirely  your  own  fault  if  a boy  like  that  presumes  to  ask  such  a 
question,”  retorted  Miss  Stanbury,  sniffing  with  indignation. 

Aunt  Clem  stole  a sly  look  at  her  niece  as  she  said : — 

“ But  young  men  in  these  days  are  so  presuming,  — are  they  not,  Bessie  ? ” 

“ It’s  not  much  to  be  wondered  at,  when  the  girls  are  so  forward.  When  I came 
out  — don’t  laugh,  you  chit ! Do  you  suppose  I was  born  two-and-forty  ? — young  men 
paid  us  attention ; but  I see  the  young  ladies  of  the  present  day  have  reversed  all  that. 
I’m  sure  at  our  dance  I saw  two  or  three  young  women  who  had  put  themselves  in 
their  partner’s  place  on  that  score.  I suppose  next  I shall  find  that  you  and  Bessie 
are  paying  attention  to  somebody  or  other.” 

“ Aunt ! aunt ! what  a shameful  libel ! ” cried  the  gild.  “ You  have  no  right  to  heap 
up  fresh  charges  without  any  foundation,  in  this  manner.” 

“ Thank  you  for  the  hint,”  replied  Miss  Stanbury,  dryly ; “ we  have  rather  wan- 
dered from  the  point.  The  question  is,  whom  Captain  Detfield  comes  here  specially  to 
see.  He  doesn’t  come  to  see  me,  and,  much  as  I regret  to  wound  Clementina’s  vanity, 
I’m  not  altogether  clear  that  it’s  her.” 

Bessie  repented  her  interference,  and  hung  out  palpable  signals  of  distress  at  this 
Unexpected  change  of  Miss  Stanbury ’s  views.  That  lady,  though  she  had  bee^ 


126 


Two  Kisses. 


carried  away  for  the  moment,  was  much  too  shrewd  to  be  long  deceived  by  her  niece’s 
joke.  She  was  indignant  at  the  presumption  of  the  pair  in  attempting  to  mystify  her 
for  a moment,  and  disposed  to  punish  the  delinquents,  for  one  of  whom,  at  all  events, 
she  had  a rod  ready  to  her  hand. 

“ Pray,”  she  continued,  turning  abruptly  to  her  niece,  “ whom  do  you  suppose  to 
be  the  loadstone  that  attracts  Captain  Detfield  to  Barnsbury  park,  eh,  miss  ? ” 

But  Aunt  Clem  came  gallantly  to  the  rescue,  and  took  the  answer  to  that  question 
upon  herself. 

“ My  dear  Matilda,  she  has  told  you  already  that  1 am  the  loadstone.  Goodness  i 
I thought  we  settled  that  some  time  back.  The  question  was,  what  was  I to  say  to 
my  admirer  if  he  ventured  to  propose.” 

“ The  question  rather  is,  what  you  can  have  said  to  induce  him  to  take  such  a 
liberty,”  retorted  Miss  Stanbury,  so  fiercely  that  her  sister  began  to  think  that  the 
joke  had  been  carried  a little  too  far. 

“Don’t  be  angry,  Matilda,”  rejoined  Aunt  Clem,  in  pleading  tones.  “Let  us 
suppose  it  is  Bessie.” 

“ No,  pray  don’t,”  exclaimed  the  girl,  blushing.  “ You  have  no  right  to  suppose  so. 
I have  no  right  to  think  so.  Captain  Detfield  has  said  no  word  to  me  as  yet  that 
would  justify  me  in  such  belief.  Don’t  be  cruel,  Aunt  Matilda,”  continued  Bessie, 
springing  suddenly  from  her  chair,  and  coiling  herself  up  at  her  aunt’s  feet.  “ You 
never  tease  me,  you  know,  and  you  are  doing  so  now.  It’s  not  fair.  I don’t  like  it, 
and,”  she  added,  as  she  fondled  Miss  Stanbury’s  hand,  looking  up  into  her  face  with 
a mutinous  pout,  “ I won’t  bear  it.” 

Miss  Matilda’s  face  softened,  as  she  stroked  the  girl’s  shining  tresses. 

“ There’s  plenty  of  love  made  that’s  unspoken,  my  dear,”  she  replied,  after  a short 
pause.  “ And  young  ladies,  for  the  most  part,  bear  it  very  patiently,  even  when  it  is, 
although  it  may  be  by  the  wrong  man.  None  of  our  sex  ever  were,  or  ever  will  be, 
indifferent  to  a love-tale,  even  though  our  sympathies  should  not  be  with  the  teller. 
Bessie,  my  pet,  I think  you  will  tell  your  old  aunt  when  the  right  man  speaks,  be  he 
who  he  may.  Now  run  away,  child ; I want  to  talk  to  Clementina,  and  not  to  you.” 

Bessie’s  sole  reply  was  to  give  her  aunt  a great  hug,  two  or  three  kisses,  leave  a 
tear  on  her  cheek,  and  vanish. 

But  if  Miss  Stanbury  had  melted  momentarily  to  her  niece,  it  was  not  to  be  sup 
posed  that  austere  lady  was  altogether  pacified.  Ashamed  a little  at  her  own  momen 
tary  weakness  to  Bessie,  she  resolved  to  give  away  to  nothing  of  the  kind  with  hei 
sister. 

“Well,  Clementina,”  she  remarked,  with  the  sharpness  of  a detonating  pistol,  as 
the  door  closed ; “ what  have  you  got  to  say  ? ” 

“ Nothing,”  replied  Aunt  Clem,  meekly. 

“ Nothing  ? And  you  have  allowed  this  to  go  on  under  your  eyes  all  the  time,  and 
tell  me  you’ve  nothing  to  say.  Here’s  Bessie  as  good  as  engaged.  Pooh!  don’t  tell 
me,”  she  cried,  as  Aunt  Clem  made  a deprecatory  gesture;  “ when  a girl  blushes,  as 


Whom.  Does  He  Come  to  See  f 


127 


ihe  did  just  now,  at  the  man’s  name,  he’s  only  to  ask  and  to  have,  did  he  but  know 

it.  It’s  to  be  hoped  he  don’t.  Now  we  know  literally  nothing  of  this  Captain  Det- 
field.  Military  morals  I believe  to  be  of  the  most  unsatisfactory  description.  Officers, 
usually,  I have  heard,  are  addicted  to  all  manner  of  unrighteousness.  I don’t  pro- 
fess to  know  much  about  them,  but  I have  no  reason  to  think  that  the  Household 
Brigade,  to  which  Captain  Detfield  says  he  belongs,  are  more  piously  brought  up  than 
the  other,  — horse,  foot,  or  artillery.” 

And,  having  so  said,  Miss  Stanbury  sat  bold  upright  and  glarea  defiantly  at  her 
unfortunate  sister.  She  was  speaking  the  exact  truth  concerning  the  army,  according 
to  her  own  lights.  She  did  know  nothing  about  them,  and  looked  upon  them  all  as 
wine-bibbers,  etc. 

Miss  Clementina  bore  her  sister’s  attack  in  silence.  That  Detfield  admired  her 
niece,  and  paid  her  considerable  attention,  she  was  aware ; but  that  anything  serious 
was  likely  to  come  of  it  had  never  before  entered  her  head.  She  felt  dreadfully 
guilty,  as  if  she  had  neglected  a trust  confided  to  her  care.  They  did  know  next  to 
nothing  of  Captain  Detfield;  it  was  too  true.  Again,  was  Bessie’s  heart  out  of 
her  own  keeping  already,  as  Miss  Matilda  asserted  ? She  began  to  fear  it  was  so. 

“ I can’t  help  it,”  she  murmured  at  length.  “ I never  thought  of  his  caring  for 
Bessie,  in  that  way,  and  I couldn’t  inquire  into  the  history  of  every  man  who  asked 
the  child  to  dance,  or  handed  her  down  to  dinner.” 

“ But  when  you  saw  her  perpetually  dancing  with  one  young  man,  I presume  you 
might  have  made  inquiries  about  him.” 

“ I’m  sure  I don’t  know  who  from.  I declare  I don’t  know  who  to  ask  about  him 
now.  I haven’t  the  least  idea  of  how  to  make  inquiries  about  Captain  Detfield ! I 
can  think  of  nothing  but  writing  to  the  colonel  of  his  regiment,  and  I don’t  suppose 
that  would  do,”  rejoined  Aunt  Clem,  somewhat  dolefully.  “ Besides,  he  dances  a 
good  deal  with  me.” 

“ I dare  say.  If  you  observe,  you  will  notice  young  men  usually  are  very  attentive 
to  their  intended  mothers-in-law,”  retorted  Miss  Stanbury,  spitefully. 

But  flesh  and  blood  could  not  stand  this  innuendo.  Aunt  Clem  started  to  her  feet, 
and  with  flushed  cheeks  exclaimed : — 

“ I’ll  not  stay  here  to  be  insulted,  Matilda.  I suppose  it’s  not  too  late  to  make  in- 
quiries about  Captain  Detfield,  even  now.  Besides,  you  began  by  asking  whom  he 
comes  here  to  see.” 

“ True.  Sit  down,  Clementina,  and  let’s  talk  the  thing  over  quietly,”  interposed 
Miss  Stanbury,  who  saw  that  she  had  gone  too  far.  “We  must  get  somebody  to 
ascertain  all  about  Captain  Detfield’s  family  and  prospects  for  us.  Bessie’s  guardian 
is,  of  course,  the  proper  person.  I shall  send  for  Mr.  Boxby.” 

“ Yes,  that  will  do  nicely,”  replied  Miss  Clementina,  much  mollified ; “ but  there’s  a 
wide  distinction  between  aunts  and  mothers-in-law,  I’d  have  you  to  know.  I never 
saw  a young  man  dancing  with  his  mother-in-law,  though,  perhaps,  you  may ; ” and 
9 


128 


Twc  Kisses. 


so  Baying,  Aunt  Clem  swept  out  of  the  room,  with  a dignified  rustle  of  her  skirt* 
most  unusual. 

Miss  Stanbury  made  no  reply,  but  could  not  refrain  from  indulging  in  a grim 
smile  as  she  saw  how  her  shot  had  told.  Verily,  it  was  the  old  habet  of  the  arena. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A FATAL  KISS. 

Cissy  has  made  her  appointment,  and  the  morning  has  arrived  on  which  she  is  to 
keep  it.  That  she  is  fluttered  and  excited  about  this  meeting  is  only  natural.  She 
has  never  known  a soul  in  whom  she  could  place  implicit  reliance,  from  the  time  her 
father  so  mysteriously  vanished,  until  she  married  Montague  Gore.  She  is  just  begin- 
ning to  think  she  can  do  so  in  him ; to  feel  that  his  presence  is  a protection  from  all 
ills  in  this  world.  She  murmurs  to  herself  at  times,  “ I feel  so  safe  now  Montague 
has  charge  of  me.  If  I did  get  into  a scrape  he  would  pull  me  through  it.”  It  is  an 
immense  thing  for  a woman,  who  has  known  what  it  is  to  want  a protector,  to  find 
herself  once  more  in  safe  anchorage.  To  feel  that  there  is  some  one  to  take  care  of 
her ; some  one  on  whom  she  can  thoroughly  depend.  He  may  not  inspire  any  feel- 
ing of  love,  but  he  must  of  esteem  and  gratitude ; and  these  Cissy  had  most  thor- 
oughly conceived  for  her  husband. 

True,  Mrs.  Paynter  had  been  a great  friend  to  her,  — really  the  one  friend  of  ket 
own  sex  she  had  ever  known ; but  no  woman  can  ever  stand  to  another  in  the  light 
of  a protector,  even  though  she  be  her  own  mother.  It  is  the  prerogative  of  man, 
although  there  is  a section  of  sexless  women  who  apparently  do  not  think  so.  That 
third  sex,  “ the  Lady  Mary  Montagues,”  has  always  existed ; but  I think  they  must 
have  been  pleasanter  in  the  days  gone  by  than  they  are  in  the  present,  if  one  may 
judge  by  their  recorded  sayings  and  doings. 

Cissy  has  selected  Montague  square  for  her  interview.  She  does  not  know  any- 
thing about  it,  further  than  that  it  appears  to  her  to  be  always  deserted.  There  are 
certain  spots  in  London  which  one  might  almost  presume  to  be  uninhabited.  Mon- 
tague square  is  one  of  these.  The  dwellers  therein  seem  to  leave  and  regain  their 
homes  in  stealthy  and  mysterious  fashion,  and  are  never  seen  to  take  exercise  in  their 
own  square.  Cissy  has  merely  noticed  that  it  appeared  to  be  a quiet  place ; that  it 
had  the  advantage  of  being  near  her  own  home.  She  has  no  thought  concerning  her- 
self in  this  respect,  but  she  does  look  upon  it  that  her  father  must  have  strong  reasons 
for  not  wishing  to  be  recognized,  though  what  those  reasons  may  be  still  puzzles  hei 
considerably.  She  did  not  understand  his  note  on  that  point  one  iota.  At  the  hot* 
tom  of  her  heart  she  thought  he  had  been  very  cruel  to  leave  her  all  these  years. 
How  many  times  she  had  wanted  him,  he  could  never  know.  But  her  belief  in  him 
was  unbounded,  and  ho  doubtless  had  good  cause  for  his  apparent  desertion. 


A Fatal  Kiss. 


129 


Her  husband  has  gone  off  to  his  chambers,  and  Cissy  sallies  forth  to  her  appoint* 
ment.  arrayed  in  the  latest  Parisian  mode,  — one  of  those  women  with  whom  to  dress 
well  is  as  a thing  of  course.  Like  Marie  Stuart,  Cissy  would  have  been  dressed 
becomingly  if  treading  the  path  to  the  scaffold.  She  understood  economy  little  in 
any  shape,  but  as  regards  her  personal  attire,  not  at  all.  She  had  always  been  taught 
not  only  to  be  well-dressed,  but  strikingly  well-dressed.  To  accomplish  that  requires 
a good  deal  of  money.  But  Cissy  would  have  conceived  her  husband  infinitely  more 
entitled  to  find  fault  with  her  appearance  than  with  her  milliner’s  bill'  — an  idea  born 
of  her  first  marriage,  but  which  a husband  of  more  limited  income,  and  with  certain 
scruples  as  regards  exceeding  it,  might  be  apt  to  demur  to. 

Montague  Gore  has  already  had  a slight  revelation  on  this  point,  but  Cissy  knows 
well  that,  sooner  or  later,  she  will  have  to  bring  accounts  for  his  settlement  of  this 
nature  that  will  open  his  eyes  considerably.  She  does  not  trouble  her  head  much 
about  it  as  yet.  She  does  not  know  whether  he  will  care  much  when  she  does. 
These  moderate  means  that  he  alludes  to  are  so  very  vague.  Some  people  call  them- 
selves paupers  on  ten  thousand  a year ; but  that  a husband  must  wish  his  wife  to  be 
well-dressed  is  a fixed  fact  in  Cissy’s  creed.  “Well,  that  cannot  be  without  some 
expense,”  reflects  Mrs.  Gore.  “ It  is  unfortunate,  but  my  style  does  require  good 
things.  Little  women  can  do  with  cheap  materials.  I can’t.” 

Mrs.  Gore’s  lesser  sisters  would  have  probably  felt  considerable  wrath  had  they 
known  her  sentiments.  No  woman  that  lives  ever  considered  herself  unfitted  for  rich 
attire ; but  Cissy  kept  her  opinions  on  dress  locked  within  her  own  bosom,  which, 
when  you  have  conceived  heterodox  notions,  is  undoubtedly  the  most  judicious  thing 
to  do.  Usually  we  are  anxious  to  promulgate  them ; and  what  very  hot  water  we  find 
ourselves  in  by  so  doing ! 

She  arrives  at  Montague  square,  and  has  scarcely  traversed  one  side  of  it  before 
the  well-knit  figure  she  knows  so  well  approaches  her.  The  major  has  no  spectacles 
on  upon  this  occasion.  For,  once  in  a way,  the  veteran  has  lost  sight  of  doing  what 
he  conceives  his  duty  by  his  neighbor,  and  is  fairly  and  honestly  entrapped  into 
genuine  emotion.  Midst  the  sullen,  solitary  life  of  plunder  he  habitually  leads,  thi3 
is  the  one  soft  spot,  the  one  human  affection  he  cherishes.  For  Cissy  he  has  made 
the  one  stupendous  sacrifice  of  his  life.  For  her  he  has  triumphed  over  that  innate 
selfishness,  characteristic  of  love  of  all  kinds.  She  thinks  he  was  cruel  to  desert  her. 
She  little  knows  what  it  cost  him ; how  long  he  wavered  and  pondered  over  this,  t& 
him,  terrible  step,  before  he  determined  upon  it.  “ But  no,”  he  thought  at  length, 
“ she  is  well  and  fairly  launched  upon  the  world ; she  shall  not  have  a questionable 
father  flying  in  her  face.”  None  knew  better  than  Major  Jenkens  how  quietly  but 
bitterly  society  can  allude  to  doubtful  relations  or  antecedents. 

But  they  have  met,  and  the  major,  clasping  Cissy’s  two  hands  in  his  own,  gazes 
anxiously  into  her  face,  as  he  exclaims : — 
u 1 see  you  once  more,  my  darling ! Well,  happy,  — is  it  so  ? ” 

* Why  did  you  le^ye  me*  father,  all  these  years  ? What  had  your  child  doae 


130 


Two  Kisses. 


yon  should  treat  her  so  cruelly  ? No,”  she  continued,  hurriedly,  noticing  the  troubled 
expression  of  his  face,  44  I don’t  mean  that  exactly.  Of  course  you  had  good  reasons \ 
but  it  came  hard,  you  know,  on  me.  I knew  nothing.” 

44  No,  nor  I either,  Cissy,”  he  replied,  hoarsely.  “ I never  guessed  I had  married 
you  to  a blackguard.  Nay,  don’t  interrupt,”  he  went  on,  sis  his  daughter  made  a 
slight  deprecatory  gesture.  44  I don’t  want  to  pain  you  by  abuse  of  Mark  Hemsworth. 
You  know  what  he  was  as  well  as  I do.” 

" He  was  my  husband,”  interposed  Cissy,  gently. 

“True;  we’ll  allude  to  him  no  more,”  replied  the  major,  as  they  passed  slowly 
along  the  pavement.  “ First,  I want  to  know  whether  you  are  happy  in  this  second 
marriage.  Is  Gore  kind  to  you,  child  ? ” 

44  Yes,  and  more  than  that,  considerate.  I am  his  wife.  I was  Mark  Hemsworth’s 
plaything.  Ah ! there  is  such  a difference.  He  loves  me  so,  it  is  a shame  I cannot 
care  more  for  him.  I suppose  it  is  not  in  my  nature.  Books  tell  me  that  women  love 
once  at  least,  but  I don’t  think  that  hour  will  come  to  me ; at  least,  not  as  I have 
pictured  it  to  myself.  I like  him,  I esteem  him,  but,”  said  Cissy,  dropping  her  voice, 
44  I sometimes  wish  he  would  never  kiss  me.” 

“ But  why,  child  ? — there  is  surely  nothing  repulsive  in  the  kiss  of  one  we  only  like.” 

“ I can’t  tell  you,”  she  replied,  blushing,  “ further  than  I feel  I have  no  answering 
kiss  to  give  him  back.  I was  honest  with  him,  father ; I told  him  I had  but  liking  to 
give,  and  he  said  he  could  be  content  to  wait  till  he  could  win  more.  I blame  myself 
that  he  has  not  done  so,  but  I cannot  help  it.” 

44  And  you  were  obliged  to  many  him,  of  course  ? ” 

44  Yes ; what  else  could  I do  ? I was  grateful  to  any  one  who  would  take  care  of 
me.  You  know  I have  no  choice.  I am  a lucky  woman  to  have  fallen  into  the  hands 
I have.” 

44  But  suppose,  Cissy,  it  should  turn  out  that  you  have  a moderate  fortune  of  your 
own,  — what  then  ? ” 

44  I should  be  very  glad,  for  my  own  sake  and  Montague’s.  I don’t  know  what  his 
income  is,  and  I don’t  like  to  ask  him ; but  I am  afraid  I am  spending  more  than  he 
will  quite  like.  I know  he  has  an  idea  that  I have  a marriage-settlement  of  some 
kind  from  Mark,  if  he  could  find  out  about  it ; he  always  said  you  would  be  sure  to 
know ; ” and  Cissy  looked  a little  inquisitively  into  her  father’s  face. 

44  You  have,”  he  rejoined,  shortly ; “ I do  know  all  about  it,  and  it  is  not  gone  in 
the  general  crash.  I took  care  of  you  in  that  respect.  It  was  tied  up  beyond  Mark 
Hemsworth’s  control,  and  is  on  land  in  England.” 

44 1 am  so  glad ! ” cried  Cissy ; 44  so  pleased  to  think  that  Montague  will  find  I have 
not  come  to  him  empty-handed,  after  all.” 

The  major  paused  for  some  few  moments  before  he  replied.  To  have  a pull  over 
his  fellows  was  so  incorporated  with  his  very  nature  that  it  was  not  in  him  to  relin 
quish  it  all  at  once,  even  thoagh  Cissy  might  desire  it. 

“ Listen,”  he  said,  at  length,  44  You  can’t  suppose  that  1 wish  to  defraud  you  of 


A Fatal  Kiss. 


181 


what  is  yours.  The  world  calls  me  hard  names,  — many  because  I perceive  and  take 
advantage  of  its  weaknesses  and  selfishness.  Unscrupulous  is,  perhaps,  one  of  tne 
mildest  epithets  they  attach  to  me.  They  have  good  reason.  I don’t  stand  at  trifies 
when  it  is  to  serve  my  own  ends.  I am  not  likely  to  flinch  when  it  is  to  serve  your 
interests.  I prefer  to  keep  all  knowledge  of  this  property  of  yours  to  myself  for  the 
present.  I mistook  Hemsworth ; let  us  wait  and  see  how  this  new  husband  of  yours 
turns  out.” 

“ I can  trust  him  thoroughly,”  cried  Cissy,  proudly,  as  she  reared  her  head.  “ He 
may  never  win  my  heart,  if  I have  such  a thing ; but  I believe  implicitly  in  his  honor 
and  rectitude.  Montague  would  never  iii-treat  me, — would  scorn  to  make  away 
with  any  money  of  mine.” 

“ My  dear,”  returned  the  major,  dryly,  “ if  you  don’t  love  your  husband,  you  are 
in  a very  fan*  way  to  do  so.” 

u I am  nothing  of  the  sort,”  returned  Cissy,  with  flushed  cheeks.  " I wish  I were. 
But  I can’t  imagine  him  doing  anything  mean.” 

“ No,”  replied  her  father,  sententiously,  “ perhaps  not.  I have  lived  longer  than 
you,  and  know  what  flaws  there  are  in  the  finest-looking  diamonds  when  tested. 
You  can  never  quite  calculate  upon  how  a man  will  take  getting  into  difficulties,  for 
instance.  Don’t  think,  Cissy,  I am  insinuating  for  one  instant  that  your  husband  is 
likely  to  do  so.  But  I prefer  to  wait  a little,  and  see  how  you  get  on  together,  before 
I hand  over  this  nest-egg  of  yours  to  his  control.  Remember,  it  is  his  to  do  what  he 
likes  with  when  he  only  knows  of  it.” 

“ It  shall  be  as  you  wish,”  replied  Cissy,  “ though,  I assure  you,  I have  no  doubt 
of  Montague.  I don’t  think  it  is  quite  fair  for  an  extravagant  wife,  such  as  I am  to 
him,  to  keep  back  any  little  property  she  may  be  possessed  of.” 

“ Ah ! he  calls  you  extravagant,  eh  ? ” rejoined  the  major,  as  he  peered  curiously 
into  her  face. 

“ Not  exactly  that;  but  he  did  say  the  other  day  that  there  must  be  bounds  to  our 
expenditure.” 

“ And  you,  no  doubt,  have  a heavy  milliner’s  bill  or  two  that  you  don’t  feel  quite 
comfortable  about  handing  over  to  him  ? ” 

“ I won’t  admit  that  altogether,”  returned  Cissy,  half  laughing,  yet  with  some 
increase  of  color  at  the  same  time ; “ but  I do  wish  they  weren’t  quite  so  big.” 

“ What ! — you  have  married  a miser,  then,  this  time,  instead  of  a spendthrift  ? ” 
inquired  the  major,  sharply. 

“ Indeed,  I have  done  nothing  of  the  kind ! ” cried  Cissy,  warmly ; “ but  my  hus- 
band has  not  so  much  money  as  Mark  had,  nor  is  he  so  reckless  regarding  it.” 

" You  are  learning  what  it  is  to  be  without  money  in  your  purse,  my  dear  ? ” 

“ Well,  not  exactly ; but  I am  learning  to  feel  the  want  of  it,  — that  is,  I haven  t so 
much  to  spend  as  I should  like.” 

“ Mrs.  Hemsworth  could  have  formed  but  little  ideas  of  economy,”  observed  the 

■Utyor,  musingly. 


188 


Two  Kisses. 


“Mrs.  Hemsworth  is  dead,**  replied  Cissy,  pettishly;  “and  a very  foolish  and 
rather  unhappy  person  she  was.  I hope  Mrs.  Gore  may  be  wiser,  even  though  she 
be  a little  extravagant.  But,  father,  I want  to  know  why  you  have  abandoned  me  all 
these  years.” 

“ Humph  l ” replied  the  major,  as  he  carefully  removed  a piece  of  orange-peel  from 
the  pavement  with  lii9  walking-stick.  “ I will  tell  you.  I have  said  they  call  me  hard 
names,  — gambler,  adventurer,”  he  continued,  bitterly,  — “with  some  amount  of 
truth  it  may  be ; but  there  are  more  than  I,  who  sit  in  high  places  and  move  among 
the  elect  of  the  land.  If  you  live  by  your  wits,  as  it  is  termed,  this  stigma  always 
attaches  itself  to  you  unless  you  are  registered  in  the  * red  book.’  My  darling,”  he 
went  on,  with  a softened  voice,  “ I didn’t  wish  that  you  should  suffer  for  your  father’s 
sins.  I had  no  wish  that  you  should  learn  to  blush  when  you  heard  him  mentioned, 
— to  dread  his  appearance  in  your  drawing-room.” 

“ Do  you  think  I could  ever  do  that  ? ” cried  Cissy,  as  she  passed  her  aim  through 
his.  “ I don’t  care  what  you  may  have  done,  if  it  was  fifty  times  worse  than  any- 
thing you  have  hinted ; to  me  you  are  still  the  indulgent  father,  who  humored  my 
every  childish  whim,  who  never  was  unkind  till  he  deserted  me.  You  must  never  do 
•o  again,”  she  added,  with  a slight  sob,  raising  her  moistened  eyes  to  his. 

“ I think  not,”  replied  the  major,  caressing  the  hand  that  laid  within  his  arm,  to  the 
evident  astonishment  of  a stray  passer-by.  “ It  wasn’t  altogether  a successful  experi- 
ment last  time,  my  dear,  was  it  ? But,  Cissy,  it  is  still  best  I should  keep  away  from 
you.  We  can  write,  meet  now  and  then;  but  let  me  still  remain  unknown  to  your 
husband.  Believe  me  it  is  best  so,  for  the  present.  You  will  know  always  where  to 
find  me  now.  I am  close  at  hand  if  you  want  me.” 

“ I shall  often  want  you,  father,  dear,  though  not  in  the  way  you  hint,”  rejoined 
Cissy.  “ I don’t  anticipate  more  than  a slight  lecture  from  Montague,  whatever  my 
offending.  But  it  is  hard  you  will  not  set  foot  in  my  house.” 

“ No,  child,  no,  decidedly  not.  Don’t  let  me  make  discord  between  you  and  your 
husband.  You  must  be  content  to  ignore  your  old  father,  except  troublous  times 
should  come  upon  you.  No  remonstrances,  Cissy ; it  must  be  as  I say.  And  now, 
good-by,  dear.” 

“ It  shall  be  as  you  wish,”  she  returned,  meekly.  “ I suppose  you  know  best ; but 
I think  you  are  wrong,  father.”  And,  as  she  spoke,  she  lifted  her  face  to  receive  his 
kiss. 

The  major  laid  his  bps  lightly  on  her  brow,  and  then  said,  once  more : — 

“ Good-by,  child.  Remember,  if  the  inilbners’  bills  get  alarming,  I have  money,  — 
ay,  money  of  your  own,  when  you  choose  to  ask  for  it.  Now,  you  had  best  trot 
home/* 

Cissy  dropped  her  veil,  pressed  his  hand,  and  then  walked  swiftly  away.  As  she 
passed  out  of  the  square  a gentleman  half  raised  his  hat  to  her,  but,  absorbed  in  her 
own  thoughts,  Mrs.  Gore  never  noticed  him.  Muttering  a slight  ejaculation  of  aston- 
ishment, he  pushed  briskly  onwards  until  he  overtook  the  major,  sauntering  slowly 


Charlie  Detfield's  Wooing. 


183 


towards  Oxford  street.  He  honoied  him  with  a tolerably  comprehensive  stare,  of 
which  the  major,  thinking  over  his  interview  with  his  daughter,  was  quite  unconscious. 

It  was  the  identical  passer-by  who  had  appeared  astonished  when  he  had  seen  the 
major  caressing  his  daughter’s  hand ; and  now  his  astonishment  had  changed  to  a look 
of  troubled  anxiety. 

4<It  was  Mrs.  Gore,”  he  muttered,  as  he  strode  rapidly  down  Gloucester  place. 
<;The  other  was  Claxby  Jenkens;  and  — ! if  I didn’t  see  him  kiss  her,  I’ll  mistrust 
my  eyesight  forever.  My  poor,  dear  Montie,  I never  liked  the  marriage ; but  I little 
thought  she  would  play  you  false  before  the  chime  of  your  wedding-bells  had  died 
out  of  our  ears.” 

Deserted  as  I have  described  Montague  square  to  usually  be,  it  may  be  deemed  a 
Curious  coincidence  that  the  major  and  Cissy  should  be  thus  recognized.  But  the 

wrong  person  turning  up  at  the  wrong  time,  in  the  wrong  place,  is  an  experience  that 
has  happened  to  most  of  us. 


Chablie  Detfield  has  arrived  at  one  of  those  crises  which  will  occur  in  the 
lives  of  those  who  live  not  wisely,  but  too  well.  He  has  been  looking  forward  to  it 
for  some  months,  with  the  imperturbable  sang-fr,<nd  with  which  he  considers  it  is 
proper  to  confront  both  the  ills  and  pleasures  of  this  world.  He  has  come  to  those 
last  few  days  before  the  inevitable  crash,  when  all  attempt  at  further  struggling  with 
destiny  seems  useless ; when  a man  drifts  aimlessly  along,  wondering  what  manner 
of  life  may  be  in  store  for  him.  There  is  no  particular  use  in  economizing  those  few 
resources  still  remaining,  in  making  the  last  money  we  can  lay  our  spendthrift  fingers 
on,  go  far.  It  is  only  a question  of  weeks.  Let  the  last  days  of  the  old  life  be 
pleasant,  at  all  events. 

True,  Charlie  has  what  is  not  given  to  every  man,  — a chance  of  averting  the 
coming  catastrophe.  He  knows  that  the  announcement  of  his  engagement  to  a lady 
with  money  would  cause  the  rapacious  Simmonds  to  stay  his  hand,  would  induce  his 
clamorous  creditors  to  wait,  at  all  events,  till  they  should  see  what  that  wedding 
would  do  for  them.  Clearly  he  must  be  affianced  to  Aunt  Clem  ere  many  days  bo 
over,  if  he  is  to  save  a complete  break-up.  He  has  made  up  his  mind  that  this  thing 
is  to  be ; but  he  has  hitherto  been  in  no  hurry  to  ask  the  question.  Sooth  to  say,  the 
idea  of  marrying  Miss  Clementina  has  grown  much  more  distasteful  of  late. 

He  rejected  the  first  suggestion  of  setting  himself  straight  by  a wealthy  marriage 
with  great  disdain.  He  has  felt  rather  a contempt  for  himself  ever  since  he  yielded 
to  the  force  of  circumstances,  — to  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  him,  from 
more  than  one  quarter,  both  persuasively  and  peculiarly.  Most  especially  is  he 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


CHABLIE  DETFIELD’S  WOOUfG. 


134 


Two  Kisses. 


indignant  with  Lizzie  Paynter,  and  no  one  of  his  advisers  is  more  disinterested  than 
she.  It  is  difficult  to  make  a man  believe  that  the  woman  who  professes  to  love  him 
would  not  keep  him  to  herself  if  she  could;  that  she  should  prefer  his  interest 
before  her  own  love  is  beyond  his  comprehension.  There  is  a leaven  of  vanity  and 
selfishness  mingled  with  this  said  passion  in  most  of  us. 

Lovers’  quarrels  are  proverbial;  and  if  you  analyze  such  as  fall  under  your 
notice  you  will  find  one  or  other  of  those  sentiments  at  the  bottom  of  them. 

But  Charlie  has  determined  to  take  the  plunge  without  more  delay.  As  he  makes 
his  way  leisurely  towards  Barnsbury  park,  this  bright  June  morning,  — and  never  did 
a man  proceed  with  greater  deliberation  on  his  mission,  — he  smiles  bitterly  to  himself. 
He  is  mentally  comparing  it  to  that  other  plunge  he  made  at  Epsom,  in  the  hope  of 
relieving  himself  in  some  measure  from  his  difficulties;  when  the  judge’s  fatal 
adverse  verdict  of  a short  head  so  infinitely  more  complicated  affairs  that  really 
admitted  of  no  further  complication.  When  condoled  with  by  his  intimates  on  that 
disaster,  Charlie  had  rejoined  with  a phlegm  that  did  credit  to  his  training ; — 

“It  don’t  matter  much.  If  it  had  come  off  it  would  have  been  only  out-door 
relief  for  a time,  — the  workhouse  just  as  inevitable  a little  later,  as  now,  you  know.” 
Then  — curious  subject  for  a man  to  pursue  on  his  way  to  propose  for  another  lady 
he  begins  to  think  of  Bessie.  He  muses  over  her  bright  face,  over  the  soft  brown 
eyes  that  are  wont  to  fall  beneath  his  own,  over  the  girl’s  frank,  graceful  manner. 
“ How  very  nice  she  is ! ” he  thinks ; “ so  utterly  unspoilt  by  the  stagey  convention- 
alities of  society.  She  don’t  bore  one  with  skating,  princes,  Hurlingham,  or  the 
opera.  Yes,  a little  enthusiastic  about  the  last,  perhaps ; but  in  such  a different  man- 
ner from  the  usual  clap-trap.  By  Jove ! ” ejaculates  Charlie,  sententiously,  “ if  I 
were  a little  younger  I’ll  be  shot  if  I couldn’t  make  a fool  of  myself,  as  Brine  hinted, 
and  fall  downright  in  love  with  that  girl.  Yes,  more  in  love  a good  deal  than  I ever 
did  yet.  Bah ! you  idiot ! what  have  you  to  do  with  Aphrodite  and  her  worship  ? 
What  you  want  is,  — 

“ 4 A father-in-law  bo  wealthy  and  grand 
He  could  give  checkmate  to  Coutts  in  the  Strand, 

So,  along  with  a ring  and  posy, 

He  endows  the  bride  with  Golconda  offhand, 

And  gives  the  groom  Potosi.* 

* Yes,”  he  continued,  in  jeering  fashion  to  himself,  travestying  the  golden  poet : — 

44  4 Gold,  still  gold,  it  haunts  him  yet, 

At  the  4 Golden  Lion  * he’s  always  met, 

A-tasting  of  golden  sherries.* 

“I  shouldn’t  wonder  if  that’s  what  comes  to  me  of  taking  a golden  wife.  What  a 
thundering  mean  fool  I feel  just  now,  and  how  jolly  miserable  for  a man  who  is  about 


135 


Charlie  Detfield's  Wooing. 

to  ask  a woman  to  make  him  happy  for  life ! I wonder  whether  she’ll  have  Bessie  to 
stay  with  her  when  we  are  married.  If  I was  a mature  bride,  I’d  have  no  pretty 
nieces  about  the  premises,  — no,  nor  yet  maids.  Well,  I think  I’m  decked  for  the 
sacrifice ; ” and  Charlie  cast  a glance  at  the  flower  in  his  button-hole.  “ Next  time  I 
tread  these  stones  I suppose  it  will  be  as  ‘ Benedict  the  married  maD.’  ” 

That  Aunt  Clem  might  say  him  nay,  you  see,  never  entered  this  young  coxcomb’s 
head ; and  yet  Charlie  Detfield  had  certainly  no  more  conceit  than  the  generality  of 
men  of  his  age  and  station.  But  he  held  a creed  common  enough  among  men  of  the 
world,  to  wit,  that  at  the  critical  time  of  life  at  which  Aunt  Clem  had  arrived,  an 
unmarried  woman  is  rather  solicitous  on  the  subject  of  marriage.  She  feels  her 
chances  are  slipping  rapidly  away  from  her,  and  that  to  say  No  now  is,  perchance,  to 
have  said  No  forever.  Although  she  may  have  seen  many  of  her  sisters  marry  much 
later  in  life,  she  regards  them  as  rather  exceptional  cases.  Widows,  of  course,  are 
like  comets,  as  baffling  to  the  social  philosopher  in  his  observations  as  the  latter  to  the 
astronomer.  They  abandon  their  wee^s  within  a few  weeks ; they  adhere  firmly  to 
them  for  years,  spite  of  earnest  solicitation  to  the  contrary.  They  are  women  with 
experiences ; past  masters,  likely  to  know  more  of  connubial  bliss  than  those  who 
would  have  them  attempt  it  once  more. 

But  by  this  time,  in  spite  of  all  his  deliberation,  Charlie  has  arrived  at  Barnsbury 
park.  No  nervous  old  lady  could  have  taken  such  care  of  herself  about  the  crossings 
as  he  has  done.  A cab,  two  hundred  yards  off,  and  coming  at  a snail’s  gallop,  a 
veritable  “ crawler,”  was  enough  to  make  that  active  guardsman  pause  before  risking 
his  precious  neck. 

Never  upon  any  previous  occasion  had  he  been  so  struck  with  the  contents  of  the 
shop-windows ; and  if  those  in  St.  John’s  street  road  can  prove  attractive,  verily,  a man 
must  be  easy  to  amuse.  But  though  you  may  count  the  flagstones,  and  be  particular 
about  not  putting  your  feet  upon  their  joinings,  you  must  arrive  at  last  at  your 
destination.  We  all  know  these  terrible  journeys  to  achieve  interviews  we  would 
fain  avoid;  that  jerk  at  the  bell,  or  nervous  rattle  of  the  knocker,  which  reminds  one 
so  vividly  of  the  tug  at  the  string  in  a February  shower-bath.  Well  for  us  if  we 
come  out  in  the  healthy  glow  with  which  that  formidable  tonic  is  supposed  to  endue 
us.  Charlie  has  pulled  his  string,  that  is,  bell,  and  is  conscious  of  icy  sensations  down 
the  spinal  marrow.  But  he  has  wavered  no  jot  in  his  intention.  He  means  to  come 
out  of  that  house  Miss  Clementina  Stanbury’s  accepted  lover,  unless  all  opportunity 
of  asking  her  consent  to  that  arrangement  be  denied  him. 

The  portly  man-servant  answers  in  the  affirmative  to  his  inquiries  for  the  Misses 
Stanbury,  ushers  him  upstairs,  and  pompously  announces  him.  For  a second  he 
thinks  the  room  is  empty ; then  he  becomes  aware  of  a cloud  of  diaphanous  draperies 
in  the  recess  of  the  window,  and  Bessie  rises  to  greet  him. 

“ Yes,  she  is  all  alone,”  she  says,  the  blood  rushing  to  her  conscious  cheek,  as  she 
recalls  that  conversation  of  a day  or  two  back,  as  to  who  it  was  that  her  visitor  came 


136 


Two  Kisses . 


there  to  see.  “ Aunt  Matilda  is  keeping  her  room  for  a slight  attack  of  neuralgia* 
and  Aunt  Clem  is  out,  but  she  will  be  in  before  long,  no  doubt.” 

Charlie  settles  himself  comfortably  in  an  easy-chair,  and  is  properly  sympathetic 
about  Miss  Stanbury’s  neuralgia.  Of  course,  he  must  await  Miss  Clementina’s  return. 
He  has  a duty  to  perform  (I  am  afraid  he  regards  it  rather  in  that  light),  and  cannot 
postpone  the  performing  of  it  longer,  as  he  well  knows.  In  the  mean  time  it  will  be 
very  pleasant  to  have  a long,  lazy  talk  with  Bessie. 

“ How  is  Velvet  ? ” he  inquired,  smiling ; “ I think  she  is  the  only  one  of  the  family, 
now,  that  I have  not  asked  after.” 

“ Oh,  Velvet  is  very  well,  almost  too  well,”  replied  Bessie;  “ she  hasn’t  had  half 
enough  work  lately,  and  gave  herself  airs  in  consequence,  yesterday.” 

“ What,  misbehaved  ? ” 

u No,  not  that.  Don’t  you  know,  Captain  Detfield,  that  Velvet  is  like  her  mistress, 
and  never  misbehaves ; but  she  was,  what  shall  I say,  rather  uppish.” 

“ I see,  danced  a good  deal,  and  hinted  at  kicking  and  rearing.” 

“ Just  so,  but  it’s  quite  make-believe  on  her  part.  She  never  ventures  to  so  really 
misconduct  herself  as  that.  She’s  a bit  of  a coquette,  I think,  and  institutes  a mock 
quarrel  with  me  when  I don’t  take  her  out  regularly.” 

“ I,  at  least,  can  sympathize  with  you  on  that  head.  WTiat  hot  water  we  men  get 
into  when  we  neglect  our  social  duties ! ” 

“ Then  you  shouldn’t  neglect  them.  Of  course,  we  consider  it  bad  manners  and 
bad  taste  when  you  don’t  come  to  see  us,”  returned  Bessie,  demurely. 

‘‘But  I plead  not  guilty,  at  least  as  far  as  Barnsbury  park  is  concerned.  You 
make,  I mean  you  all  make,  the  house  too  pleasant  to  allow  one  to  keep  away.” 

The  girl’s  color  rose  a little,  as  with  a gay  laugh,  she  retorted,  — 

“ Barnsbury  park  feels  honored  by  Captain  Detfield’s  preference.” 

She  did  not  quite  approve  of  that  “all,”  — she  had  marked  the  correction.  She 
could  not  guess  that  her  visitor  was  trying  to  persuade  himself  that  he  had  no 
predilection,  at  all  events.  If  he  did  not  feel  quite  so  interested  in  Miss  Clementina, 
as  a man  should  who  had  come  to  ask  her  consent  In  marriage,  still  Charlie  did  not 
wish  to  acknowledge  an  undue  interest  in  any  one  else. 

“By  the  way,  Captain  Detfield,  do  you  recollect  Minnie  Rendleshaw,  — the  pretty 
girl  in  blue,  I introduced  you  to  the  other  night  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  returned  Charlie;  “against  succumbing  to  whose  attractions  you  warned 
me  so  impressively.” 

44  Just  so ! and  very  much  obliged  to  me  you  ought  to  be.  WTiat  might  your  feelings 
have  been  at  learning  she’s  the  bride  of  another  ? ” and  Bessie  indulged  in  a mock 
melo-dramatic  start,  as  she  made  the  announcement. 

“ Can’t  possibly  say  what  agony  it  might  have  occasioned.  As  it  is,  I’m  tranauil. 
I couldn’t  feel  calmer  if  I were  iced.” 

“ Well,  I am  not;  I feel  quite  angry  about  it.  Minnie  really  is  a nice  girl,  and  to 


137 


Charlie  Detfield's  Wooing-. 

think  that  she  is  going  to  throw  herself  away  on  that  old,  ugly,  disagreeable  Mr 
Mohbles  is  simply  disgusting.” 

“ I presume  Mobbles  is  possessed  of  some  latent  attractions  not  perceptible  to  most 
of  us,”  replied  Charlie,  languidly. 

“ Oh,  she  takes  him  for  his  money,  of  course.  lie’s  rich  as  Croesus,  you  know. 
But  she  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  selling  herself  in  that  fashion ; ” and  Bessie  threw 
herself  back  in  her  chair,  with  the  prettiest  possible  pout  of  indignation. 

Detfield’s  face  flushed  slightly ; it  is  not  pleasant  to  hear  the  parallel  of  one’s  own 
contemplated  line  of  conduct  commented  on  disdainfully. 

“ I suppose,”  he  said  at  length,  “ these  arrangements  are  necessaiy  in  our  social 
system.  You  can’t  have  everything.  Miss  Rendleshaw  hankers  doubtless  for  dresses, 
jewels,  carriages,  etc.,  and  she  takes  a man  who  can  give  her  them.” 

u As  if  a girl  worth  taking  couldn’t  do  without  all  those  things,  sooner  than  marry 
a man  she  did  not  love.” 

“ I don’t  know  about  whether  she  could,”  rejoined  Charlie,  slowly.  “ As  far  as  my 
experience  goes,  there  isn’t  much  disposition  to  try  the  experiment.” 

“ For  shame,  Captain  Detfield,  I don’t  believe  a word  of  it ! ” cried  Bessie,  her 
eyes  flashing  with  indignation.  “ Cases  like  Minnie’s  are  the  exception,  not  the  rule.” 

“ When  you  have  lived  in  the  world  a little  longer,  you  will  change  your  opinion,” 
observed  Charlie,  sententiously. 

“ I hope  not.  I trust  not,”  replied  the  girl,  in  quick,  earnest  tones.  “ Of  course 
one  expects  to  encounter  meanness  and  selfishness  sometimes;  but  I shall  be  very 
sorry  if  ever  I should  come  to  regard  them  otherwise  than  as  exceptional  cases.” 

She  colored  slightly  as  she  finished,  and  her  eyes  fell  beneath  her  companion’s 
unmistakable  gaze  of  admiration.  A violent  revulsion  had  taken  place  in  Detfield’s 
mind  during  the  last  few  seconds. 

“ May  you  cany  that  faith  to  your  grave,”  he  replied.  “ And  you,  — suppose  this 
was  your  own  case,  that  a man  loved  you  whose  own  folly  had  ruined  him ; who  had 
been  mean  enough  to  cherish  the  idea  of  repairing  his  fortunes  by  a wealthy  marriage, 
but  who,  at  the  last  moment,  was  recalled  to  his  better  self  by  the  words  that  have 
just  fallen  from  your  lips.” 

Bessie’s  heart  stood  still.  She  knew  now  that  she  loved  this  man.  Was  the  fact  of  . 
her  being  rich  to  stand  between  them,  and  that,  too,  from  her  own  foolish  speech  ? 

“ I don’t  think  you  understood  me,  quite,”  she  murmured,  in  a low  voice. 

“ I hope  so,”  he  continued,  earnestly.  “ Could  you  make  up  your  mind  to  wait, 
Bessie,  till  this  man  retrieved  his  past  sufficiently  to  offer  you  a home  ? ” 

“ What  could  he  mean  ? ” she  wondered.  “ Surely  he  was  speaking  of  himself; 
asking  her  to  be  his  wife,  yet  repudiating  a wealthy  marriage.  Perhaps  he  didn’t 
call  her  rich ; with  those  he  habitually  consorted  it  might  be  that  such  fortune  as 
hers  was  deemed  of  small  account.” 

Won’t  you  answer  me,  darling  ? ” continued  Charlie,  in  low,  pleading  tones. 

* Won’t  you  tell  me  that  you  can  love  and  wait  for  me  ? ” 


138 


Two  Kisses. 


She  was  puzzled  still ; but  her  heart  gave  a great  leap.  He  was  asking  her  to  be 
his  now,  — that  was  clear. 

' Not  a word  for  me  yet.  Have  I made  a mistake,  or  is  it  that  you  fear  to  pledge 
yourself  to  a ruined  man  ? ” 

“ O Charlie ! Captain  Detfield ! — you  know/’  cried  Bessie. 

Apparently  lie  did,  for  he  drew  her  to  himself  and  kissed  her,  and,  as  she  buried 
her  blushing  face  in  his  waistcoat,  whispered  into  her  ear : — 

“ Mine,  are  you  not  ? ” 

A little  tremulous  “ Yes  ” was  the  sole  reply. 

As  a rule,  I fancy  there  is  not  much  said  upon  these  occasions ; at  all  events, 
nowadays.  When  CJeorge  the  Third  was  king,  perhaps  it  was  different.  Did  the 
lovers  of  those  times  preface  the  momentous  question  with  a couple  of  pages  of 
compliment  and  commonplace  like  Richardson’s  heroes  ? I suppose  they  did  kneel . I 
wonder  whether  any  one  ever  does  now.  A proposal  I should  imagine,  in  the  “ good 
old  times,”  loomed  in  the  future  for  some  months ; and  the  lover  and  his  mistress 
mutually  rehearsed  what  they  would  say,  when  it  came  about,  for  weeks  previously. 
Nature,  I presume,  got  the  best  of  the  conventionalities  here  and  there.  In  our  high 
pressure  age  we  cannot  afford  to  spend  so  much  time  about  it.  We  do  our  courting 
(I  like  the  dear,  old-fashioned  word)  quicker ; and  a young  gentleman  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  is  no  more  nervous  about  asking  a lady  for  her  hand  than  for  her 
photograph. 

“ Bessie,  my  darling,”  said  Detfield,  as  he  released  her,  " do  you  quite  understand 
what  you  have  done  ? ” 

“ I think  so,”  she  replied,  smiling,  — “ promised  to  be  your  wife.” 

“ Yes,  to  be  wife  to  a pauper,  you  understand  ? ” 

Bessie  nodded,  and  looked  as  jubilant  as  if  he  had  said  “ millionnaire.” 

“ Wife  to  a man  who  has  not  as  yet  even  a home  to  offer  you.” 

Again  the  girl  nodded  gayly , as  she  replied : — 

“ But  I hope  he  will  have  some  day.” 

“ And  you  don’t  repent  ? ” 

“You  don’t  give  me  much  time,  Charlie,”  she  exclaimed,  laughing.  “When  1 
come  to  doing  the  grates,  you  know,  — we  shall  be  so  poor,  I suppose,  that  I shall 
have  to  do  those,  — then,  perhaps  — ” she  stopped  abruptly,  blushed,  and  bowed  her 
head. 

“ What  ? ” he  asked,  anxiously. 

“ I shall  thank  God  that  I am  married  to  the  man  I love  best,”  she  oontinued, 
proudly,  raising  her  frank,  innocent  eyes  fondly  to  his. 

Bessie  was  veiy  young,  but  she  might  have  guessed  what  the  sequel  to  such  a 
speech  was  likely  to  be. 

“ Well,  my  own,”  said  Charlie,  after  one  of  those  brief  intervals  which  will  occur 
in  lovers’  conversations,  not  the  less  interesting  to  those  concerned  because  the  con 


An  Embarras  De  Richesse. 


139 


versation  has  languished,  “ if  you  will  only  wait  for  me,  I will  claim  you  before 

long.” 

“ I can  wait  and  trust,  Charlie,”  replied  the  girl,  gently. 

Remarkable  is  the  confidence  induced  by  this  self-same  passion  called  “ love.” 
Charlie  Detfield  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  was  a ruined  man,  and  had  almost  as 
much  idea  of  how  he  was  to  earn  a living  in  the  days  to  come  as  he  had  of  solving 
the  problem  of  perpetual  motion ; but  he  no  more  doubted  of  his  capabilities  at  this 
moment  than  he  did  of  his  existence. 

“ Well,  Bessie,  it  may  be  as  long  as  two  or  three  years ; but  we  shall  see  each  other 
and  write ; ” and  here  nothing  further  occurring  to  him  to  say  upon  the  peculiarly 
nazy  future,  he  stroked  her  hair  fondly. 

But  the  sharp  rattle  of  the  door-handle  causes  the  lovers  to  spring  rapidly  apart ; 
and  Charlie  could  not  forbear  smiling  as  he  rose  to  greet  Aunt  Clem,  and  thought 
what  a mess  he  had  made  of  his  last  battle  with  his  destiny.  He  had  come  to  win  a 
wealthy  bride,  and  stood  affianced  to  a portionless  girl.  He  had  never  thought  much 
about  what  Bessie’s  prospects  might  be,  — dependent  on  her  aunts,  he  imagined ; but 
had  really  troubled  his  head  little  on  the  matter. 

Although  Miss  Clementina  rattled  on  carelessly  on  indifferent  topics,  she  had 
observed  indications  noticeable  only  to  a feminine  eye,  and  drawn  her  own  conclu- 
sions. Detfield  cut  his  visit  from  this  as  short  as  he  decently  could,  and  no  sooner 
had  the  door  closed  behind  him  than  she  said,  quietly : — 

“ I don’t  know,  Bessie ; but  I have  an  idea  that  you  can  tell  Matilda  for  certain 
now  who  it  is  that  Captain  Detfield  comes  to  see  in  Barnsbury  park.” 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AN  embarras  de  richesse. 

Montague  Gore  still  nurses  his  skeleton  with  all  the  assiduity  that  a man 
habituated  to  a solitary  life  is  wont  to  devote  to  such  grim  bantlings.  Long  nights 
passed  in  chambers  give  a man  much  faculty  for  this  species  of  self-torture,  and  he 
broods  over  his  relations  with  his  wife  more  than  is  good  for  him.  Could  he  but  see 
it,  he  i3  in  a fair  way  to  gain  so  much  heart  as  Cissy  may  possess.  There  are  women, 
as  men,  who  are  not  overburdened  with  very  much.  Life  perhaps  runs  more 
smoothly  for  such  than  for  those  with  more  acute  susceptibilities.  If  they  don’t 
enjoy  the  pleasures,  they  at  all  times  avoid  the  pains  suffered  by  their  less  phlegmatic 
sisters. 

Cissy  so  far  has  been  of  the  former  class.  A woman  who  has  been  accustomed  to 
repress  her  feelings  in  her  girlhood  is  not  likely  to  part  with  her  love  lightly,  — may, 
indeed,  well-ni^h  stiile  any  capacity  for  loving  by  this  unnatural  training,  — for  t® 


140 


Two  Kisses. 


love  in  some  fashion  is  part  cf  a woman's  nature.  In  high  nervous  organization! 
want  of  outlet  for  the  affections  will  kill  as  surely  as  if  it  were  actually  the  consump- 
tion it  is  sometimes  called. 

But  Gore,  jealous  of  his  wife’s  love,  cannot  see  that  he  must  call  time  to  his  aid ; 
that  a woman  such  as  Cissy  cannot  change  mere  liking  into  love  at  short  notice.  He 
has  made  much  progress  with  her,  but  i3  altogether  unaware  of  the  fact.  She  is  not 
a demonstrative  woman,  as  may  be  supposed.  She  shows  her  feelings  with  some 
timidity.  She  cannot  forget  the  jeers  such  a display  had  at  times  provoked  from 
Mark  Hemsworth  in  the  early  days  of  their  wedded  life,  and  even  yet  cannot  help 
fearing  that  any  show  of  emotion  may  call  forth  ridicule.  It  is  difficult  for  a man  t© 
discover  what  advance  he  makes  in  the  good  graces  of  a woman  like  Cissy. 

Mrs.  Gore  has  met  her  father  upon  two  or  three  occasions,  since  that  first  inter- 
view in  Montague  square.  The  major,  callous  as  he  is  to  all  other  sentiment,  is 
wonderfully  soft  about  this  one  passion  of  his  scheming  existence,  — his  love  for  his 
daughter.  He  separated  himself  utterly  from  her  before,  as  he  thought  for  her  good, 
and  what  came  of  it  ? Better  he  had  been  there  to  restrain  Mark  Hemsworth  in  hi| 
brutality.  He  cannot  sever  all  communication  between  them  again.  He  wishes  ta 
see  her  occasionally,  to  watch  over  her,  and  yet  to  keep  his  relationship,  indeed  his 
very  existence,  a secret  from  her  husband  for  the  present.  He  wants  to  be  convinced 
that  this  second  marriage  has  turned  out  happily,  before  he  discovers  himself.  Judg- 
ing from  his  own  knowledge  of  mankind,  he  thinks  that  a man  will  look  over  the 
drawback  of  a father-in-law’s  bearing  a somewhat  unsavory  reputation,  who  should 
come  to  him  with  twelve  hundred  a-year  in  his  hand.  To  disclose  the  history  of 
Cissy’s  settlement  on  her  first  marriage  is  to  make  that  addition  to  Montague  Gore’s 
income. 

On  the  other  hand,  should  this  marriage  turn  out  unhappily,  he  will  keep  all  knowL 
edge  of  that  settlement  to  himself,  and  draw  the  income  derived  from  it  in  his  daugh 
ter’s  behalf.  He  knows  that  the  moment  he  appears  upon  the  scene  as  Cissy’s  father, 
he  will  infallibly  be  questioned  as  to  whether  there  was  no  settlement  on  the  first 
marriage.  But  as  long  as  his  whereabouts,  or  even  the  fact  of  his  being  alive,  is 
unknown,  it  will  be  difficult  for  any  one  to  get  at  the  truth  regarding  that  subject 
This  settlement  is  made  upon  a large  farm  in  Nottinghamshire,  which  had  been  left 
to  Mark  Hemsworth  by  an  uncle.  The  tenant  was  accustomed  to  pay  bis  rent  into 
the  hands  of  certain  bankers  at  Nottingham,  who  transmitted  it  duly  to  a French 
house  through  their  London  correspondents.  But  a business  man  like  Hemsworth 
had  money  constantly  passing  to  and  fro,  from  his  Parisian  bankers  to  various  Lon- 
don houses,  and  vice  versa . 

It  was  not  easy  to  find  the  clue  to  this  property  without  a guide;  of  course  there 
was  another  trustee,  but  he  was  the  willing  abettor  of  the  major  in  his  scheme, 
with  very  hazy  ideas  regarding  his  legal  obligations,  a passionate  devotion  to  Cissy’s 
interests,  and  a firm  conviction  that,  whatever  else  the  nuyor  might  be,  bis  love  for  hit 

slaughter  was  a©  skaza. 


An  Embarras  De  Richesse. 


141 


The  strength  of  a chain  is  limited  to  its  weakest  point,  without  reference  to  the 
stronger  links.  Your  practised  intriguers  invariably  have  their  weak  link,  usually 
overlooked  in  the  complicated  web  they  have  woven.  Accident  hits  it,  and  their 
scheme  becomes  nothing.  Fate  favors  them,  and  the  flaw  escapes  detection.  Many 
notable  frauds  have  come  to  light  through  the  overlooking  of  some  trifle,  that  it  was 
scarcely  conceivable  their  originators  should  have  lost  sight  of.  It  is  in  the  petty 
details  that  swindlers  of  the  premiere  force  usually  break  down.  Their  conceptions 
are  grand,  they  elaborate  their,  plan  with  an  assiduity  and  cleverness  worthy  of  better 
things ; but  a date,  a name,  a place,  apparently  of  little  consequence,  escapes  them,  and 
their  cobweb  is  rent  past  repair.  They  are  taken  in  their  own  nets. 

It  has  never  occurred  to  the  major  that  clandestine  meetings  with  his  own  daughter 
may  be  misconstrued,  should  they  chance  to  be  witnessed.  It  is  so  impossible  almost 
for  a father  to  imagine  that  he  could  be  deemed  his  daughter’s  lover,  that  even  this 
astute  schemer  may  be  forgiven  for  overlooking  such  a probability.  It  certainly 
never  occurred  to  bluff  John  Paynter,  when  raising  his  hat  to  Mrs.  Gore  one  morn- 
ing in  Portland  place,  as  she  was  walking  with  her  father,  that  he  was  more  than 
any  other  ordinaiy  acquaintance,  and  it  was  with  the  idlest,  commonplace  curiosity, 
that  two  days  afterwards,  when  dining  with  the  Gores,  he  inquired : — 

“ Who  was  your  cavalier  the  other  day,  Mrs.  Gore  ? — a face  I know  well,  but  can- 
not put  a name  to.” 

“ When  do  you  mean  ? ” replied  Cissy. 

“ On  Thursday,  in  Portland  place ; a good-looking  man,  with  hair  just  shot  with 
gray.” 

The  major  had  eschewed  his  spectacles  upon  that  occasion. 

“ I don’t  recollect,”  replied  Cissy,  taken  a little  aback. 

“Oh,  nonsense!  you  must  remember.  You  returned  my  bow,  you  know.  A 
shrewd,  sharp  face,  and  seemed  as  if  his  talk  was  worth  listening  to.  I’ll  swear  I’ve 
seen  him  about  town.” 

“ Yes,  of  course ; how  stupid  of  me ! Don’t  you  think  you  were  rather  rude  not 
to  stop  and  shake  hands  ? Keally,  Lizzie,  you  should  teach  him  better  manners.  I 
declare,  he  all  but  cut  me ; and  you  are  responsible,  my  dear,  for  him  on  those  points  ” 
“ Of  course  I am,”  returned  Mrs.  Paynter,  seeing,  with  ail  the  quickness  of  a 
woman,  that  her  friend  wished  the  conversation  turned.  “Are  you  disengaged  on 
Wednesday,  Cissy  ? If  so,  I have  a box  at  Covent  Garden.  Come  with  me,  and  hear 
Patti.” 

“ Shall  be  charmed ; and  now  I think  we  will  go  upstairs  and  look  for  some  tea.” 
Montague  Gore  had  not  lost  a word  of  this  discussion.  He  thought  very  little 
about  it  at  the  time ; but  it  happening  to  recur  to  him,  just  after  the  Paynters  had 
left,  he  also  idly  asked : — 

“ Who  was  your  friend  of  Thursday,  Cissy  ? ” 

“ Nobody  you  know,”  returned  his  wife. 

Perhaps  so ; but  I suppose  he  has  a name,”  observed 


142 


Two  Kisses. 


Cissy  paused  for  a moment,  and  then  said : — 

“ Well,  that’s  just  what  he  has  not,  just  now.  I met  him  in  Par  9,  and  have  known 
him  for  some  years.  He  does  not  want  his  presence  in  England  talked  about.” 

“I  don’t  want  to  interfere  with  you,  Cissy,  but,  however  old  a friend  he  may  be,  I 
think,  under  those  circumstances,  you  would  be  wiser  not  to  walk  with  him.” 

“ You  tell  me  not  to,”  demanded  Mrs.  Gore,  a little  sharply. 

“ Nothing  of  the  kind.  I have  too  much  confidence  in  you  to  say  anything  so 
authoritative.  I merely  suggested  it  were,  perhaps,  better  not  to  do  so,  should  you 
meet  him  again.” 

“ I understand,”  replied  Cissy,  as  she  lit  her  bedroom  candle,  and  walked  somewhat 
moodily  away  to  reflect  upon  this  complication  that  had  suddenly  arisen  in  her  new 
life. 

Gore  mused  a little  upon  who  this  mysterious  friend  of  his  wife’s  Paris  days  might 
be.  He  reflected  that  Cissy  might  have  formed  acquaintance  in  those  times  that  it 
was  by  no  means  desirable  she  should  keep  up.  No  idea  of  jealousy  had,  as  yet, 
presented  itself  to  his  mind,  but  the  soil  was  ripe  for  the  sowing.  With  his  morbid 
feelings  regarding  his  wife’s  love  for  himself,  there  never  was  ground  better  adapted 
for  the  rearing  of  “ the  green-eyed  monster.” 

“ If  I do  prove  her  haggard, 

Though  that  her  jesses  were  my  dear  heartstrings. 

Pd  whistle  her  off,  and  let  her  down  the  wind,  •— 

To  prey  at  fortune,” 

would  be  pretty  much  the  idea  of  a man  of  Montague  Gore’s  temperament.  Men 
of  this  frame  of  mind  sometimes  both  suffer  themselves,  and  inflict  needless  tortures 
on  women  thoroughly  true  to  them.  And  yet  it  must  be  said  for  Montague  Gore  that 
he  was  not  a suspicious  man.  He  believed  implicitly  in  the  woman  he  had  manned,  — 
in  her  honesty,  in  her  rectitude.  He  would  have  scorned  to  interfere  with  her  selec- 
tion of  acquaintances.  He  knew  she  had  been  sorely  tried,  and  firmly  believed  she 
had  borne  her  temptations  as  few  women,  so  young  as  she  then  was,  would  have 
been  capable  of  doing.  But  he  was  painfully  alive  to  the  fact  that,  as  yet,  he  had  not 
won  her  love.  He  began  to  despair  of  ever  gaining  it.  He  had  thought  when  he 
married  that  such  entire  love  as  his  must  gain  response  before  long,  she  had  been 
so  truthful  about  her  feelings  when  she  accepted  him.  Alas!  she  was  so  truthful 
still.  She  never  condescended  to  simulate  the  passion  she  did  not  feel.  He  could  not 
get  over  this.  Esteem ! gratitude ! bah ! He  wanted  this  woman’s  heart.  He  craved 
for  that  way  to  “ the  side  door,”  which,  as  Wendell  Holmes  says,  “ opens  at  once 
into  the  secret  chambers.” 

Breakfast  was  nearly  over  the  next  morning,  when  Cissy  exclaimed,  a little 
nervously : — 

“ Montague,  you  must  let  m©  have  some  more  money,  please  \ 1 a a destitute.*' 


An  Embarras  De  Richesse. 


143 


u You  really  ought  not  to  be,”  he  replied,  gravely.  “ I gave  you  fifty  pounds  only 
a fortnight  ago.” 

“ I know,  but  things  cost  so  much.  I ought  not,  I suppose,  to  have  spent  it  all,  but 
I have,  and  there  are  tht  house-bills  to  settle  this  week.” 

“Well,  I cannot  give  it  you  now,  for  I’ve  not  above  four  or  five  pounds  in  my 
pocket,  which  would  not  be  of  much  use ; but  I will  draw  a check  on  my  way  to  the 
Temple,  and  you  shall  have  what  you  want  this  afternoon.” 

“Very  many  thanks.” 

“ But,  Cissy,  my  dear,  do  bear  in  mind  I’m  a man  of  moderate  means.  I don't 
want  to  deny  your  right  to  dip  your  pretty  fingers  into  my  purse ; still,  if  you’re  not  a 
little  more  careful,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  dip  to  no  purpose.” 

“I  will  try,”  she  replied;  “but,  Montague,  remember,  it  comes  difficult  to  me.  1 
have  hitherto  been  taught  only  to  spend  money.” 

“A  shocking  preparation  for  thrifty  housekeeping,”  he  rejoined,  laughing. 
“ Never  mind,  you  will  learn  in  time.  And  now  I must  be  off.  Good-by,  my  wife,” 
and,  having  pressed  his  lips  lightly  on  her  brow,  Gore  took  his  departure. 

“ He’s  veiy  good  to  me,”  muttered  Cissy.  “ I thought  he  would  have  said  more 
about  my  spending  so  much  money.  Moderate  means ! I do  wish  somebody  would 
explain  to  me  what  constitutes  moderate  means.  I must  ask  Montague  how  much  it 
is  a month,  and  how  much  again  of  that  I may  have ; and  having  ascertained  all  that, 
well,  I suppose,”  she  continued,  laughing,  “ I shall  spend  double.  The  science  of 
economy  is  the  most  difficult  study  I ever  tried  yet.” 

Her  meditations  finished,  Mrs.  Gore  remembered  that  she  had  some  shopping  to  do. 
If  you  are  at  all  known,  an  empty  purse  is  not  the  slightest  impediment  to  that  in 
London;  in  fact,  the  only  wonder  is  the  credulity  of  the  West-end  tradesmen  is  not 
more  severely  punished.  A fashionable  address,  a brougham,  the  display  of  a little 
ready  money  to  start  with,  and  a very  moderate  stock  of  assurance,  will  induce  credit 
past  belief  amongst  them.  Cissy,  having  issued  her  orders  to  one  or  two  well-known 
millinery  establishments  in  Regent  street,  turns  down  Conduit  street;  and  is  she 
enters  Bond  street  finds  herself  face  to  face  with  her  father. 

“ My  dear,”  exclaimed  the  major,  “ where  are  you  trotting  to  ? Let’s  turn  into 
Berkeley  square  and  have  a chat.” 

“ Nowhere  in  particular,”  replied  Cissy,  as  she  took  his  arm ; “ but,  father,  gossiping 
with  you  leads  to  awkward  questions.  Mr.  Paynter,  a friend  of  mine*  passed  us  the 
other  day  in  Portland  place,  and  he  wants  to  know  who  you  are.” 

“ Curse  his  inquisitiveness ! ” rejoined  the  major,  promptly.  “ A species  of  Paul 
Piy,  I presume.” 

“ No,  father  dear,  he’s  nothing  of  the  sort.  He’s  as  good,  straightforward  a man  as 
ever  lived,  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  is  a great  friend  of  my  husband’s ; indeed, 
it  was  at  his  house  that  I first  met  Montague.  It  was  put  as  an  idle  question  of 
euriosity,  but  it  was  awkward.” 

“ And  what  did  you  say  ? ” inquired  the  msgor,  as  they  turned  the  square 

10 


144 


Two  Kisses. 


“Fell  back,  mon  pere,  upon  my  sex’*  usual  weapon  in  such  time  of  difficulty 
— evasion.” 

“ And  it  stood  you  in  good  stead  ? ” 

“ Only  moderately  so ; if  it  hadn’t  been  for  Lizzie’s  quick  tact,  — that’s  his  wife,  you 
must  know,  — I don’t  think  it  would.  But  she  saw  I wanted  the  conversation  turned, 
and  she  did  it.” 

“ Ah ! well,  then,  there’s  no  harm  done.” 

“ Yes,  there  is ; for  Montague  took  it  into  his  head  to  ask  afterwards  with  whom  1 
had  been  walking.” 

“ And  you  told  him  ? ” asked  the  major,  sharply. 

“That  it  was  somebody  he  had  never  heard  of,  — an  old  Parisian  acquaintance, 
who,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  did  not  wish  his  presence  in  London  to  be 
talked  about. 

“ And  that  satisfied  him,  child,  eh  ? ” 

“Well,  he  said  no  more;  but  suggested,  under  those  circumstances,  I had  better 
not  be  seen  walking  with  you.  He  was  kind,  father,  as  he  always  is.  There  was  no 
must  not,  nor  shall  not,  about  it.  He  merely  hinted  that  it  was  injudicious.” 

“And  he  was  right,  Cissy.  I’m  beginning  to  believe  in  this  new  husband  of  yours. 
A man  who  gives  advice  instead  of  commands  to  the  woman  he  has  made  his  wife 
deserves  her  attention,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  It  is  a pity  you  can’t  love  him,  child.” 

Mrs.  Gore’s  face  flushed  like  a girl’s,  as  she  listened  to  her  father’s  commendation 
of  her  husband,  and  it  was  in  almost  a whisper  she  replied : — 

“ I like  him  a great  deal  better  than  I did ; am  growing  to  like  him  better  every 
day,  I think.  He  is  so  kind,  so  thoughtful.  I had  to  tell  him  to-day  I wanted  some 
more  money,  and  I could  see  he  considered  I had  spent  a great  deal  more  than  I had 
a right  to ; but  all  he  said  was  that  if  I wasn’t  more  careful  I should  come  to  the 
bottom  of  the  purse,  and  then  it  would  be  no  use  my  putting  my  hands  into  it.” 

“ But  I told  you  the  other  day  I had  money  of  your  very  own  for  you  if  you 
wanted  it.  I haven’t  got  it  about  me,  but  come  along  to  my  rooms  in  Charles  street. 
I can  give  you  a hundred  of  your  very  own  money,  Cissy.” 

“ That  would  be  nice,”  she  replied,  as  visions  of  liquidating  one  or  two  outstanding 
accounts  crossed  her  mind.  “ Let  us  go.” 

It  was  very  little  way  to  walk,  and  Cissy  speedily  found  herself  installed  in  the 
most  carefully  calculated  chair  for  comfort  in  the  major’s  most  carefully  balanced 
establishment.  She  smiled,  as  she  noted  all  the  old  habits  of  order  that  she  had  been 
familiar  with  as  a child ; not  that  she  had  ever  lived  much  with  her  father,  but  she 
remembered  well  how  punctilious  he  was  wont  to  be  on  these  points.  Even  now,  as 
she  threw  her  hat  carelessly  on  the  writing-table,  he  removed  it  and  placed  it  quietly 
on  another  as  more  appropriate.  And  yet  he  was  so  pleased  to  have  her  there.  He 
insisted  she  should  have  a glass  of  wine,  dived  into  a mysterious  cupboard,  and  pro- 
duced a cobwebbed  bottle  of  port  that  he  averred  was  supposed  to  be  old,  veiy  old. 
He  hunted  out  biscuits  for  her.  This  shrewd,  hard,  cynical  shearer  of  human  lamb 


An  Embarras  De  Richesse. 


145 


kins  fluttered  about  his  daughter  in  a manner  that  those  who  knew  him  could  not 
have  believed.  1 don’t  think  there  were  many  of  his  acquaintance  would  have 
believed  in  a soft  spot  in  Major  Jenkens. 

While  Cissy  sipped  her  port  and  nibbled  her  biscuit,  the  major  had  unlocked  an 
old-fashioned  walnut  escritoire,  from  one  of  the  drawers  of  which  he  took  a roll  of 
bank-notes. 

“ Give  me  your  purse,  child,”  he  said,  as  he  crossed  towards  her,  “ and  I will  fresh- 
stock  it  for  you.” 

“ Indeed  it  needs  it  sadly,”  she  replied,  laughing,  as  she  handed  her  neat  morocco 
portemonnaie  over  to  him.  “ It  is  pure  ostentation  carrying  about  such  a useless 
article  as  it  is  at  present.” 

“ There,”  he  replied,  as  he  returned  it  after  a few  seconds,  “ that’s  better,  Cissy. 
You  will  find  ten  notes  for  ten  pound  apiece  when  you  next  open  it.  Remember  in 
future  that  I have  a good  deal  of  money  of  yours.  You  have  only  to  write  to  me 
when  you  want  some.” 

“ Thanks,  father  dear ; and  now  I think  I must  run  away.  What  a sweet  daughter 
you’ve  got ! She  drinks  your  wine,  eats  your  biscuits,  gets  all  she  can  out  of  you,  in 
short,  and  then  she’s  off.” 

“ Ah,  well,  she’s  got  very  little  that  wasn’t  her  own  out  of  me  this  morning,”  said 
her  father,  laughing.  “ Good-by,  my  darling.” 

It  was  late  that  afternoon  when  Montague  Gore  returned  home.  That  his  wife  was 
in  was  evident.  Her  hat,  gloves,  parasol,  etc.,  were  thrown  carelessly  on  the  table, 
while  the  tea  equipage  stood  waiting.  He  sat  down,  and,  taking  up  the  parasol,  com- 
menced fiddling  with  it.  In  so  doing,  he  displaced  Cissy’s  pocket-handkerchief, 
which  discovered  her  purse,  hitherto  concealed.  An  idea  struck  him.  He  threw 
down  the  parasol,  and,  drawing  a note-case  from  his  breast-pocket,  selected  some  of 
the  contents ; then,  taking  up  the  purse,  he  opened  it  with  the  intention  of  placing  the 
notes  within  it.  To  his  surprise  he  found  it  well  filled.  He  snapped  the  porte- 
monnaie to  again  and  relinquished  his  intention.  What  did  this  mean  ? Why  on 
earth  should  Cissy  ask  for  money  when  she  had  plenty  ? He  didn’t  know  liow  much, 
— he  hadn’t  counted  it;  he  had  no  intention  of  doing  so,  but  that  she  had  several 
bank-cates  in  her  purse  was  evident. 

He  sat  for  some  time  pondering  over  this  enigma.  He  wondered  whether  she 
would  explain  it.  If  she  had  all  that  money,  what  made  her  come  to  him  for  more  ? 
If  she  had  not,  how  could  she  have  procured  it  since  breakfast  ? When  Cissy  entered 
the  room  he  placed  his  notes  in  her  hand,  with  the  brief  remark  : — 

“ There’s  what  you  asked  me  foi , I hope  it’s  enough.” 

“ Thanks,  yes ; you  are  very  good,  Montague,  it  is  ample.” 

“ Why,  you  haven’t  counted  it,  how  can  you  know  ? ” 

“ Oh ! I’m  sure  it  is ; I can  see  it  is,”  she  replied,  nervously  turning  over  the 

notes.  , 

Her  heart  smote  her.  She  would  have  liked  to  have  told  him  that  she  did  not  want 


146 


Two  Kisses. 


it  now ; that  she  had  plenty  of  money  of  her  own.  But  then  how  was  she  to  do  this 
without  discovering  her  father  ? She  was  beginning  to  see  that  this  mystery  the  major 
thought  proper  to  maintain  regarding  their  relationship  would  involve  her  in  endless 
difficulties ; but  she  never  dreaiht  of  breaking  her  promise  to  him.  She  raised  her 
eyes,  and  fancied  she  detected  a troubled  expression  in  her  husband’s  face,  but  of 
course  she  could  not  ascribe  it  to  its  real  cause.  She  thought  he  was  perhaps  still 
apprehensive  of  her  extravagant  habits.  She  smiled,  as  she  exclaimed : ■ — 

“ Don’t  look  as  if  you  thought  I should  ruin  you,  Montague.  I intend  to  make  this 
go  ever  so  much  further  than  the  last.” 

“ We’ll  hope  so,  Cissy,”  he  replied,  quietly.  “ I shall  watch  your  economies  with 
great  curiosity.” 

It  w»9  evident  that  she  had  no  intention  of  explaining. 

CHAPTER  XXVH. 

THE  PUMPING  OP  MR.  TURBOTTLE. 

Mb.  Brine  having,  with  the  natural  incoherence  of  his  disposition,  arrived  at  King’s 
Cross  precisely  three  minutes  after  his  train  had  departed,  abandoned  himself  for  a 
little  to  the  abuse  of  the  railway  authorities  generally.  Reflecting  at  length  that 
punctuality  on  their  part  was  scarcely  assailable  in  the  journals,  and  his  own  watch 
bearing  testimony  to  the  veracity  of  the  station-clock,  he  ordered  his  portmanteau  to 
be  taken  to  the  Great  Northern  Hotel,  and  determined  to  postpone  his  journey  till  the 
following  morning. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  differently  people  bear  this  little  contretemps . I am 
supposing,  mind,  that  the  disappointment  is  not  involving  momentous  issues,  or  even 
very  great  inconvenience.  There  are  some  who  are  so  agitated  at  this  commonplace 
misfortune,  that  you  would  suppose  their  very  future  was  involved  in  arriving  at  their 
destination  by  that  particular  train.  Others  phlegmatically  pace  the  platform,  study 
the  book-stalls,  ascertain  their  correct  weight,  and  upon  the  whole  rather  enjoy 
themselves,  till  there  comes  to  them  another  opportunity  of  starting  on  their  way. 

I knew  one  philosopher  who,  scorning  to  be  tied  to  time  in  any  shape,  never  looked 
at  a Bradshaw.  He  drove  to  the  station,  and  simply  asked  when  the  next  train  started 
for  wherever  he  might  be  going.  He  said  nothing  amused  him  more  than  a big 
terminus.  Some  betake  themselves  to  the  refreshment-room,  and  console  themselves 
with  the  flowing  bowl.  We,  many  of  us,  must  remember  Mr.  Sala’s  story  when  he 
“ missed  connection  ” travelling  in  America,  and  had,  as  they  say  there,  “ to  lie  over ; ” 
how  his  two  philosophic  fellow-travellers,  producing  a demyohn  of  whiskey,  called  for 
hot  water,  and,  sitting  calmly  down  on  either  side  of  the  stove,  proceeded  to  abstract 


The  Pumping  of  Mr.  Turbottle. 


1 47 


fchemselver,  from  all  such  mundane  matters  as  trains,  unpunctual  or  otherwise,  aniving 
speedily  at  that  state  of  beatitude  in  which  one  place  is  as  good  as  another. 

Some  there  are  who  drive  themselves  to  the  very  verge  of  idiotcy  by  furious  study 
of  Bradshaw,  with  a view  to  getting  to  their  destination  in  a mysterious  roundabout 
manner,  meditating,  for  instance,  at  a London  terminus  going  round  by  York  to  arrive 
at  some  place  in  Surrey.  Others,  of  feeble  lymphatic  temperament,  pass  their  time  in 
heart-rending  appeals  to  guards,  porters,  etc.,  and  make  frantic  dashes  at  every  train 
that  goes  off,  — no  matter  for  where.  They  have  to  be  continually  taken  out  of  trains 
by  the  railway  officials,  and  pour  their  sorrows  undisguisedly,  with  much  superfluous 
information  concerning  their  families  and  pursuits,  into  the  ear  of  the  first  stranger 
who  is  weak  enough  to  listen  to  them.  When  their  veritable  train  does  start,  they  are 
usually  in  the  middle  of  the  recital  of  their  wrongs,  and  have  to  be  bundled  into  a 
carriage  breathless  at  the  last  moment. 

But  Fox  Brine  was  none  of  these.  After  the  first  few  minutes  of  exasperation  were 
over,  he  had  made  his  decision  as  before  narrated.  The  next  question  was,  what  was 
he  to  do  with  himself  this  afternoon  ? Exercise  ? Yes,  he  wanted  exercise.  Now  in 
what  direction  should  he  take  his  exercise  ? Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had 
not  called  upon  the  Paynters  since  dining  there. 

“ The  very  thing,”  quoth  Mr.  Brine.  “ I can  just  slip  along  the  Euston  road,  and 
there  we  are ; the  social  amenities  respected,  and  the  liver  kept  in  order  all  in  one. 
Who  wouldn’t  be  a slave  to  society  ? Off  she  goes.” 

Mr.  Brine  rejoiced  in  the  usual  fortune  which  attends  making  a call  some  distance 
off  in  London,  — he  was  privileged  to  leave  a card.  When  shall  we  arrive  at  that  great 
social  reform  when  an  engraved  post-card  will  be  deemed  sufficient  acknowledgment 
of  the  wines  and  cakes  we  have  consumed  ? “ Idleness  is  the  root  of  all  calling,” 
quoth  Dr.  Desent.  He  is  wrong.  The  bachelor  who  does  his  calls  conscientiously  in 
London  can  never  be  accused  of  idleness,  and  should  be  in  a very  tolerable  condition 
for  the  12th,  unless  he  resorts  to  cabs  or  similar  depravity,  — broughams  on  credit,  for 
instance.  Married  men  expect  their  wives  to  take  this  duty  upon  their  own  shoulders, 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  either  keep  carnages  for  them,  or  pay  the  livery  stable-keeper’s 
account  without  comment. 

Mr.  Brine  then  bethought  him  of  stretching  across  to  the  Marble  Arch,  and  so 
through  Hyde  Park  to  his  club.  “ Better  a dinner  there,”  he  thought,  “than  a 
solitary  evening  at  the  Great  Northern ; ” and  thus  it  came  about  that  he  passed 
Montague  square,  and  witnessed  the  parting  between  Mrs.  Gore  and  her  father. 

It  troubled  him  a good  deal.  Gore  was  one  of  his  oldest  and  dearest  friends,  and  he 
had  much  disliked  the  idea  of  his  marriage  with  a woman  of  whose  family  he  knew 
nothing,  and  of  whose  antecedents  he  knew  so  very  little  more.  But  Brine  was  a man 
of  the  world,  and  knew  that  to  attempt  to  argue  with  a man  in  love,  especially  when 
he  was  of  Gore’s  age,  probably  results  in  a quarrel  with  your  friend,  but  nothing  else 
He  had  taken  a dislike  to  Cissy,  when  he  met  her  at  the  Paynters’.  He  could  allege  no 
reason  for  such  dislike,  — one  of  those  instinctive  antipathies  we  all  occasionally  con- 


148 


Two  Kisses. 


ceive,  and  to  which  some  of  us  are  so  much  more  prone  than  others ; such  dislike,  at 
times,  well  warranted  by  further  knowledge  of  the  person ; at  others,  on  more  intimate 
acquaintance,  admitted  to  have  been  absurd  and  unjust.  Love  at  first  sight,  if  not  a 
frequent,  is  by  no  means  quite  so  rare  an  occurrence  as  may  be  supposed.  Prejudice 
against  or  in  favor  of  those  we  meet  takes  place  daily  with  most  of  us. 

Brine,  the  next  morning,  as  he  speeds  on  his  way  to  Nottingham,  meditates  a good 
deal  on  that  parting  he  had  witnessed.  How  on  earth  could  a woman  in  Mrs.  Gore’s 
position  keep  up  a clandestine  intimacy  with  such  a very  doubtful  character  as  Claxby 
Jenkins  ? He  felt  certain  that  her  husband  knew  nothing  of  it.  What  hold  had  this 
man  over  her  ? What  terms  must  she  not  be  on  with  him,  to  warrant  his  kissing  her 
at  parting  ? Where  could  she  have  known  him  ? As  he  reflects  over  all  these  things, 
Brine,  as  we  are  all  wont  to  do  when  puzzled,  builds  up  a story  for  himself,  based  upon 
a little  fact  and  a good  deal  of  imagination.  Yes,  Mrs.  Gore  most  likely  made  the 
major’s  acquaintance  abroad,  during  the  lifetime  of  her  first  husband.  He  was  an  old 
lover,  with  whom  she  still  thought  proper  to  keep  up  relations,  or  she  was  too  much  in 
his  hands  to  venture  to  break  with  him.  Bear  in  mind,  the  major  carried  his  years 
well,  and  was  not  yet  fifty.  There  was  nothing  the  least  absurd  in  supposing  him  still 
quite  capable  of  proving  a successful  wooer,  while  it  was  most  unlikely  that  the  real 
connection  between  him  and  Cissy  should  ever  enter  into  Mr.  Brine’s  head.  He  had 
accounted  for  that  meeting,  as  with  his  slander  knowledge  concerning  Mrs.  Gore’s 
previous  lfre  most  men  in  his  place  would  have  done. 

“ There  are  two  questions  now  to  put  to  myself,”  thought  Brine.  “ First,  how  am 
I to  ascertain  whether  Mrs.  Gore  is  yielding  willingly  to  the  attentions  of  that  scoun- 
drel, or  whether  he  has  simply  got  some  hold  over  her  which  obliges  her  to  do  his 
bidding  ? Secondly,  what  ought  I to  do  ? I can’t  sit  still  and  see  the-  dearest  friend 
I have  on  earth  wronged ; and  yet,  though  I mistrust  her  and  don’t  like  her,  it  seems 
rather  mean  to  take  advantage  of  a woman  in  that  way,  and  whisper  so  foul  a charge 
behind  her  back.  I wish  to  Heaven  I hadn’t  missed  the  train  yesterday ; in  that  case 
I should  have  known  nothing  about  it.”  Then  Brine  reflected  how  fatal  interference 
between  man  and  wife  inevitably  was  to  the  interposer.  He  knew  well  that  Gore 
was  devoted  to  his  bride.  He  knew  further  that,  though  not  easy  to  provoke,  he  was 
a man  of  violent  temper  when  roused.  It  was  quite  possible  that  he  would  regard 
him,  Brine,  as  a vile  traducer,  and  thrust  the  scandalous  accusation  on  one  side  with 
vehement  contempt. 

It  was  a difficult  situation  to  be  placed  in,  and  the  more  Brine  mused  over  it  the 
more  bitterly  did  he  curse  the  evil  destiny  that  caused  him  to  miss  his  train  in  the  first 
instance,  and  to  penetrate  to  the  wilds  of  Montague  square  in  the  second.  But  the 
train  glides  into  the  Nottingham  station,  and,  having  secured  his  portmanteau,  Brine 
betakes  himself  to  the  “ George,”  from  which  hostelry  he  intends  to  prosecute  his 
researches  regarding  the  Hemsworth  race. 

He  had  seen  the  lace  and  hosiery  metropolis  but  once  before ; then  it  was  agitated 
With  all  the  shrieks,  cries,  crowd,  fun,  and  laughter  of  the  Goose  Fair.  Now  it  is 


149 


The  Pumping  of  Mr.  Turbottle. 

Nottingham  the  quiescent  that  lies  before  him,  — Nottingham  the  sleepy.  Not  a 
dozen  people  to  be  seen  in  the  big,  dusty  market-place ; only  a few  loiterers  in  the 
broad,  burning  streets.  All  provincial  cities  are  given  to  a siesta ; it  is  only  in  this 
huge,  bubbling,  eddying  London  of  ours  that  the  roar  never  ceases.  Nottingham 
sleeps ; but  Nottingham  will  be  lively  enough  when  the  factory  bells  ring  at  six,  as 
signal  that  the  day’s  work  is  done,  and  the  hands  pour  into  the  streets  for  a breath  of 
fresh  air  before  going  home  to  their  suppers. 

Sanguine  as  Mr.  Brine  had  been  in  Mr.  John  Paynter’s  dining-room,  confidently 
as  he  had  asserted  that  he  would  find  lots  of  Hemsworths,  now  he  had  arrived  at  the 
scene  of  his  researches  he  felt  a little  puzzled  how  to  begin.  He  moved  listlessly  about 
the  streets,  reading  the  names  over  the  shop  doors ; there  was  infinite  variety,  but  he 
never  met  the  name  he  wanted.  Pie  put  the  question  confidentially  to  policemen, 
trades-people,  street-loungers,  etc.,  with  an  ease  and  affability  all  his  own ; but,  as  he 
remarked  to  himself,  though  expressed  differently,  it  all  comes  to  the  same  thing,  — 
“ they  knows  nothing  of  no  Hemsworths.” 

" It  strikes  me,”  mused  Mr.  Brine,  as  he  sat  smoking  a solitary  cigar  in  the 
George  coffee-room,  “ that  I have  found  an  occupation.  Nottinghamshire  is  a 
tolerably  large  county.  I wonder  how  long  it  will  take  to  go  over  it,  knock  at  every 
door,  and  inquire  if  a party  of  the  name  of  Hems  worth  lives  within  ? Wheugh ! I 
have  it ! ” he  exclaimed,  giving  vent  to  a jubilant  whistle.  “ What  a fool  I was  not  to 
think  of  it  at  once  ! Here,  waiter,  get  me  the  county  directory.” 

" Yes,  sir.” 

" Pens,  inks,  and  paper.  Ah ! and  some  brandy  and  water ; the  directory  will  be 
dryish  reading.” 

Mr.  Brine  pursued  his  researches  calmly  and  resolutely.  “ It  won’t  take  quite  so 
long  as  walking  round  the  county,”  he  muttered;  “but  it’ll  take  some  time  to  get 
through  this.  How  confoundedly  thickly  populated  they  appear  to  be  in  these  parts ! 
If  the  inhabitants  ran  about  half  a dozen  to  the  square  mile,  I should  get  on  better. 
Ha ! here  we  have  a Hemsworth  at  last,  — a miller  at  Southwell.  I don’t  suppose  he’ll 
do ; but  it’s  something  to  catch  a Hemsworth  of  any  kind.  I don’t  think  I pledged 
myself  to  do  more  than  produce  Hemsworths.  Good  again;  here’s  another,  a widow, 
I presume ; keeps  a chandler’s  shop  at  Mansfield.  They  don’t  read  like  Hemsworths 
with  property,  these.” 

Here  Mr.  Brine’s  studies  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a sleek,  clean-shaved 
little  man  'with  quick,  beady  black  eyes. 

“ Indulging  in  the  weed,  I see ; may  be  you’d  not  object  to  my  pipe.  All  right, 
William,”  he  continued,  turning  to  the  waiter,  as  Brine  nodded  assent.  “ Sip  of  gin, 
cold,  and  a clean  clay.  I can’t  a-bear  cigars,  sir;  I know  too  much  about  ’em.” 

“ How  so  ? ” asked  Brine,  looking  hard  at  the  stranger. 

“ Bless  your  innocence,  I was  in  the  trade  once ; I know  how  they’re  made,  — what 
a Tommy  Dodd-ing  business  it  is,  — hay,  cabbage-leaves,  chopped  straw.  No,  sir,  J 

likes  tobacco.” 


150 


Two  Kisses. 


" Why,  it’s  Mr.  Turbottle,”  exclaimed  Brine,  extending  his  hand. 

“ Beg  pardon,  sir.  I don’t  remember.” 

* What,  not  the  Goose  Fair,  and  the  ingratitude  of  the  British  public  ? 99 

“ Why,  if  it  aint  the  noble  gladiator,  dash  my  wig ! This  is  a start,  rum  thing, 
coincidences,  sir.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” inquired  Brine. 

“ Just  this ; last  time  we  met  was  in  this  very  room,  and  I aint  been  in  Nottingham 
since ; and  it’s  likely  you  aint  either.” 

Brine  admitted  that  it  was  so ; but  inquired  whether  it  was  the  unthankfulness  of 
Nottingham  that  had  caused  Mr.  Turbottle  to,  metaphorically  speaking,  shake  the 
dust  of  that  city  from  his  feet. 

“ No,  sir,  no ; if  you  had  been  in  the  travelling  or  Tommy  Dodd  trade  as  long  as 
me,  you’d  reckon  up  the  public  pretty  much  as  I do.  Curse  ’em,  there’s  no  knowing 
where  to  have  ’em ; a woman  aint  half  so  changeable  as  the  B.  P.  You’re  their 
favorite  to  day,  and  they’d  tear  your  * pitch  ’ down  to-morrow.  What  they’re  mad 
for  one  week,  they  don’t  care  about  the  next.  The  only  thing  you  can’t  get  to  an  end 
of  is  the  feminine  weakness  for  cheap  jewelry,  and  the  masculine  vanity  for  hearing 
themselves  talk,  among  wot  they  calls  the  democratic  classes.” 

“Ah,  you  find  that  so  ? ” interposed  Brine,  much  amused. 

“ I tell  you  what  it  is,”  said  Mr.  Turbottle,  solemnly,  “ I never  met  a young  woman, 
who  had  three  and  sixpence,  could  resist  my  electro-plated  brooches  at  that  figger ; 
and  they  tell  me  your  countesses  has  the  same  weakness,  only,  in  course,  they  goes 
for  the  real  thing.  Jewelry,  sir,  is  the  great  weakness  of  women,  whether  it’s  beads 
or  diamonds.  There’s  more  girls  ruined  from  love  of  finery  than  aught  else.  But 
might  I ask  what  brings  you  into  these  parts  ? ” 

“ Certainly ; and  it’s  just  possible  you  can  help  me.  I want  to  discover  if  a certain 
Mark  Hemsworth  ever  lived  in  these  parts.” 

“ Mark  Hemsworth ! ” ejaculated  Mr.  Turbottle,  with  visible  astonishment  depicted 
in  his  countenance. 

“ Exactly ; I see  you  know  him,”  retorted  Brine,  sharply. 

“ I never  said  so,”  replied  Mr.  Turbottle,  relighting  his  pipe  with  considerable 
display  of  being  much  engrossed  in  the  performance. 

“ Not  in  words ; but  your  face  said  so,  plainly.” 

“ Then  my  face  lied,  ’cause  I didn’t.” 

“ You  know  him  by  name,  though,  if  not  personally,”  exclaimed  Brine,  eying  his 
companion  keenly. 

“ May  be  I did,  and  may  be  I didn’t,”  said  Mr.  Turbottle,  sententiously.  “ What 
might  you  want  to  know  for  ? ” 

“ Well,  that’s  my  business.  Did  you  ? ” 

“ I aint  going  to  answer  any  questions  about  him.  As  you  say,  it’s  your  business 
and  none  of  mine.  My  own  affairs  are  quite  enough  for  me  to  attend  to,”  observed 


The  Pumping  of  Mr.  Turbottle.  151 

Mr  Turbottle,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  commencing  to  smoke 
furiously. 

“ This  man  does  know  something  about  Mark  Hemsworth,”  thought  Brine , “ but 
he  is  not  going  to  tell  me  anything  concerning  him.  How  to  make  him  speak  ? 

« Now,  Mr.  Turbottle,”  resumed  Brine,  at  length,  “ I want  a little  information 
concerning  Hemswortli’s  family  and  early  life.  If  you  can  or  will  give  it,  I’ll  make 
it  worth  your  while.” 

“ Not  a bit  of  use  talking,  sir,”  retorted  Mr.  Turbottle,  stiffly.  “ I don’t  say  I can ; 
but  if  I could  I wouldn’t.” 

“ But  why  not  ? What  is  your  objection  ? ” 

“ Because  I won’t,”  returned  the  worthy  Turbottle,  showing  a perspicuity  in  his 
reasoning  of  a somewhat  feminine  order. 

Brine  was  on  his  mettle ; he  considered  his  reputation  involved  in  the  discovery  of 
Mark  Hemsworth’s  antecedents;  but  he  was  much  too  experienced  a man  of  the 
world  to  press  his  companion  further  on  the  point  at  present.  It  was  clear  to  him 
that  he  had  lit  upon  a man,  who  in  all  probability  could,  if  he  would,  give  him  the 
information  he  sought.  It  was  equally  clear  to  him  that  Mr.  Turbottle,  for  causes 
best  known  to  himself,  was  not  to  be  persuaded,  either  by  bribery  or  argument,  to 
part  with  his  knowledge  just  now.  A bright  idea  flashed  across  him,  — liquor  might 
loosen  his  companion’s  tongue.  He  changed  the  conversation,  and  proposed  that  Mr. 
Turbottle  should  join  him  in  a bowl  of  gin-punch, — a subtle,  insidious  compound  much 
in  vogue  in  those  parts ; cool  and  innocent  as  mother’s  milk  to  the  palate,  but  with 
all  the  elements  of  intoxication  therein,  as  those  that  have  drank  it  at  Horncastle 
Fair  can  testify. 

Mr.  Turbottle  assented  gleefully,  but  the  experiment  was  not  a success.  Pouring 
gin-punch  into  the  Trent  was  as  likely  to  upset  the  course  of  the  stream,  as  pouring 
that  liquor  into  Mr.  Turbottle  was  to  throw  him  off  his  balance ; store  of  anecdotes, 
observations  on  men  and  manners,  flowed  freely  from  his  lips ; he  smoked,  jested, 
and  got  extremely  genial ; but  further  than  that  he  did  not  go,  while  his  capacity  for 
punch,  it  soon  became  evident  to  his  entertainer,  far  exceeded  his  own. 

When  Fox  Brine  awoke  the  next  morning,  he  had  indistinct  memories  of  difficul- 
ties about  lighting  his  candlestick.  He  found  that  his  watch  had  unaccountably 
ftopped,  and  became  conscious  that  if  anybody  had  succumbed  to  the  insidious  temp- 
tations of  gin-punch,  it  had  not  been  Mr.  Turbottle.  On  inquiring  for  that  worthy, 
he  learned  that  he  had  departed  early,  but  whither  no  one  could  say. 

“ Had  the  clue,  and  it  has  slipped  through  my  fingers  ” quoth  Mr.  Brine,  sadly, 
over  his  tea  and  toast.  “ What  a fool  I was  not  to  ascertain  his  address ! If  ever  I 
try  to  make  a countryman  drunk  again,  may  I be,  — well,  spifflicated  is  a good  word, 
and  can’t  be  worse  than  the  headache  I am  at  present  afflicted  with.” 


152 


Two  Kisses. 


CHAPTER  XXVHI. 

MONTAGUE  GORE  REMONSTRATES. 

It  is  a sad  moment  when  we  first  conceive  distrust  of  her  we  love,  when  we  com* 
mence  to  doubt  her  protestations  of  affection,  when  it  dawns  upon  us  that  the  golden 
charm  is  broken,  when  the  letters  wax  shorter  and  fewer,  when  we  know  that  some 
other  has  taken  that  place  we  once  thought  permanently  our  own,  when  we  grimly 
reflect  that,  — 

“ Woman’s  love  is  writ  on  water, 

Woman’s  love  is  traced  on  sand  1 ” 

Men  take  it  differently ; cynically  as  in  the  above ; bitterly  as  Siebel  sings,  — 

“ Me  she  deceived,  and  thee  she’s  deceiving; 

Devil  that  she  is  — whom  there’s  no  believing.” 

Philosophically : “ The  person  you  love  most  is  the  person  with  whom  you  can  stay 
longest  without  being  bored,’5  and  it  is  fair  to  presume  we  bore  her.  It  is  better  so, 
perhaps,  then  that  our  liaison  should  have  continued  till  she  bored  us.  It  is  well  to 
retreat  gracefully  from  such  a position,  and  relieve  the  lady  of  our  love.  Friendship 
may  be  possible,  though  love  lies  dead,  — a pale  phantom  crowned  with  withered 
roses,  — souvenirs  of  the  beaux  moments  that  have  departed. 

There  are  sore  hearts  and  wet  lashes  on  such  occasions.  It  it  not  given  to  either 
men  or  women  to  attain  philosophy  always  upon  the  shattering  of  their  day-dream. 
Passion  does  not,  unfortunately,  die  simultaneously,  and  on  one  side  or  the  other 
there  is  usually  bitter  regret.  Those  light  loves,  such  as  the  butterfly  bears  to  the 
flower,  are  perhaps  to  be  envied ; they  leave  but  slight  sting  behind  them.  “ A little 
glow,  a little  shiver,”  and  that  is  all ; but  when  one  conceives  a serious  passion,  it  is 
different;  then  one  suffers.  We  may  jest  and  mock,  but  we  do.  We  can’t  take  it 
all  out  in  work. 

Picture  to  yourself  a man,  his  very  veins  thrilling  with  passionate  love  for  the 
woman  he  has  won  to  himself  for  a wife.  Think  of  this  man  yearning  for  that 
answering  love  which  he  has  hoped  for,  and  feeling  that  he  has  not  the  power  to 
quicken  this  woman’s  pulse-beats  one  to  the  minute ; that  the  kiss  that  responds  to 
his  is  cold  and  passionless  as  the  adored  of  Pygmalion  before  life  was  transferred 
into  the  marble  his  hand  had  wrought.  Picture  to  yourself  his  gradually  becoming 
hopeless  of  moving  this  heart  for  the  quickening  of  which  he  so  thirsts.  Think  of 
him  feeling  sadly  and  dejectedly  that  all  the  wealth  of  love  he  had  to  throw  at  hei 
feet  lay  there  unacknowledged,  unanswered. 


Montague  Gore  Remonstrates. 


153 


Kerne mber  that  this  is  no  boy,  in  the  wild  infatuation  of  a first  glamor,  but  a man  in 
his  prime,  loving  with  all  the  fierce  strength  of  a man’s  passion.  Then  conceive  its 
dawning  upon  him  that  she  he  has  made  his  wife  is  cariying  on  an  intrigue  with 
another ; that  this  woman,  who  is  as  stone  to  him,  has  married  him  'with  a favored 
lover  in  the  background ; that  she  has  wedded  him  as  a mere  convenience,  that  would 
enable  her  to  live  without  being  a drain  on  the  resources  of  the  man  of  her  choice. 
Fancy  all  this,  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  the  ghostly  phantoms  that  are  now 
whirling  through  the  brain  of  Montague  Gore. 

For  it  ha.3  come  now  to  Gore  to  be  a witness  of  his  wife’s  parting  with  the  mys- 
terious stranger  to  whom  John  Paynter  had  alluded.  No  great  scene ; nothing  more 
than  a few  words  of  earnest  conversation  and  a pressure  of  the  hand  had  he  wit 
nessed.  Although  some  distance  off,  he  recognized  his  wife.  He  would  have  scorned 
to  be  a spy  upon  her ; but  he  was  on  his  way  home,  and  overtook  her  a few  seconds 
afterwards,  — no  possibility  of  a mistake.  It  was  undoubtedly  Cissy ; the  man  had 
turned  abruptly  up  a by-street,  and  he  saw  him  no  more. 

He  asked  her  no  question,  and  she  said  no  word  concerning  her  acquaintance. 
But  it  rankled  bitterly  in  his  breast  nevertheless.  Again  and  again,  that  evening,  did 
he  turn  the  conversation  upon  whom  she  had  met  in  the  course  of  the  day ; but, 
though  Cissy  mentioned  a good  many  people,  she  had  no  idea  that  he  had  witnessed 
her  parting  with  her  father,  and  said  never  a word  on  the  subject;  of  course  it  w? 
not  likely  that  she  would.  Had  she  known  her  husband  had  seen  it  she  would  ha\ 
been  mightily  perplexed,  and  what  she  might  or  might  not  have  said  regarding  it 
dubious. 

Women  are  invariably,  from  the  instinct  of  their  sex,  more  accomplished  in  false- 
hoods than  men.  There  are  many  cases  in  which  modesty  compels  them  to  conceal 
the  truth.  Things  pass  under  their  eyes  in  life  which  it  is  incumbent  upon  them  to 
pretend  not  to  be  aware  of.  Few  of  even  the  highest  of  them  but  must  have  had 
their  ears  shocked  at  times  by  language  unfitted  for  their  hearing ; and  they  arrive  at 
knowledge  of  which  it  would  seem  almost  preposterous  to  suspect  them.  Tne  lunatic 
asylums  furnish  melancholy  instances  of  this  : of  girls  brought  up  in  all  the  purity  of 
home  using  speech  in  their  madness  which  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  they  could  have 
ever  known.  When  a girl  loves,  her  first  impulse  is  to  conceal  it.  How  many  have 
said  a man  nay  from  no  other  cause  than  this,  though  they  have  yielded  willingly 
enough  to  further  pressure.  But  that  women  lie  with  better  grace  than  men  is  a fact 
attributable  to  their  natural  modesty,  which  teaches  them  the  necessity  of,  in  some 
measure,  practising  that  art. 

Montague  Gore  is  suffering  fierce  torments.  To  that  terrible  suspicion  of  having 
lavished  his  love  upon  a woman  whose  heart  is  of  marble  has  succeeded  the  dire  mis- 
giving that  she  loves  another.  He  is  cherishing  the  passion  of  jealousy,  — a plant  that 
requires  little  forcing.  Gore  hugs  it  to  his  breast  closely,  and  it  grows  apace.  How 
was  it  his  wife  came  by  all  those  bank-notes  ? Who  is  this  man  that  she  meets  and 
aever  speaks  of?  Easy  to  see  now  why  she  remains  all  unmoved  by  his  passionate 


154 


Two  Kisses. 


devotion  ; the  citadel  is  already  occupied.  Cissy’s  heart  is  no  longer  in  her  own  keep 
in g ; she  loves  another  — is,  perhaps,  already  this  man’s  mistress.  No,  he  will  not  do 
her  that  wrong ; surely  she  cannot  be  so  fair  and  so  false.  He  thinks  of  the  proud, 
pure  face,  and  says  it  is  not  so.  Yet  when  women  meet  men  unknown  to  their  hus- 
bands, what  does  it  mean  generally  ? 

Again  and  again  does  he  return  insidiously  to  this  point  during  the  next  few  days. 
He  is  so  miserable  that  he  thirsts  for  some  explanation.  If  she  would  but  allude  to 
having  met  this  man,  he  fancies  all  might  perhaps  be  cleared  up.  But  Cissy  does 
nothing  of  the  kind.  She  begins  intuitively  to  feel  that  her  husband  has  conceived 
suspicions  of  some  sort  concerning  her,  and  resents  them  with  no  little  indigna- 
tion. It  has  never  occurred  to  her  what  interpretation  could  be  placed  upon  these 
secret  interviews.  That  her  father  could  be  deemed  her  lover  is  such  an  utter 
absurdity  that  it  never  entered  her  head.  She  does  think  that  her  husband  might 
forbid  her  to  see  him,  and  then  Cissy  wonders  sadly  what  it  is  that  he  has  done  to 
place  himself  without  the  pale  of  society. 

Well,  it  does  not  signify;  he  has  ever  been  a kind,  indulgent  father  to  her,  and 
give  him  up  she  will  not.  She  does  not  want  this  question  to  arise  between  her 
nd  Montague.  She  has  conceived  a very  great  regard  and  esteem  for  him.  Ske 
quite  conscious  of  all  his  patient,  watchful  attention.  She  knows  how  her 
tes,  how  her  comforts  have  been  studied,  and  what  she  prizes  far  more,  is  the 
urteous  deference  to  her  opinion,  the  quiet  way  in  which  her  husband  consults 
r on  all  points.  Even  the  perplexities  of  his  business  he  talks  over  with  her 

eely. 

To  a woman  who,  in  her  previous  marriage,  had  been  alternately  petted  and 
insulted,  but  had  never  been  treated  as  a rational  being,  with  a mind  that  could  com- 
prehend anything  higher  than  dress  or  pleasure,  thi3  was  inexpressibly  sweet.  Cissy, 
too,  had  learnt  much  during  these  last  few  months.  She  had  naturally  excellent 
abilities,  and  had  mixed  of  late  with  cultivated  people,  who,  though  they  worked,  and 
worked  hard,  yet  did  not  conceive  that  money-getting  and  display  were  the  sole 
objects  of  life.  She  had  met  men  who,  though  they  had  a sufficient  appreciation  of 
the  luxuries  and  comforts  that  wealth  confers,  yet  held  that  turtle,  venison,  and  rare 
wines,  without  “good  talk,”  did  not  constitute  a satisfactory  dinner,  — men  who 
regarded  a woman,  whose  claims  to  their  admiration  were  based  solely  on  her  face 
and  the  perfection  of  her  toilet,  with  no  great  reverence.  They  required  something 
more.  A pretty  doll,  however  exquisitely  dressed,  did  not  satisfy  them.  They 
required  a woman  with  ideas,  and  the  power  of  expressing  them,  — not  a mere  figure, 
all  smiles,  satin,  and  simper. 

At  last  Montague  Gore  determines  that  he  will  speak  out.  He  will  ask  his  wife 
who  is  this  mysterious  stranger.  Anything  would  be  better  than  the  cruel  fancies 
that  haunt  him  now.  To  know  her  false  would  not  be  so  bitter  as  to  doubt.  To 
mistrust  the  woman  we  love  is  torture.  To  have  knowledge  of  her  guilt  is  the  first 
step  towards  burying  our  love.  Our  pride  is  then  thoroughly  roused;  that  con* 


Montague  Gore  Remonstrates. 


155 


kempt  for  treachery  inherent  in  our  nature  flames  out.  Even  the  felon  looks  down 
upon  his  friend  who  turns  queen’s  evidence.  We  despise  the  woman  who  betrays  us ; 
one  cannot  love  where  one  scorns;  but  one  can  understand,  looking  back  regret- 
fully at  the  dream  that  has  fled,  when  the  coquetry  was  as  yet  but  teasing  in  our 
eyes.  The  sighing  forth,  like  Sophie  Arnould,  — 

“ Oh,  le  bon  temps!  J*4tais  bien  malheureuse.” 

Even  that,  perhaps,  is  better  than  our  present  desolation. 

It  is  after  dinner.  Gore  and  his  wife  are  in  their  bright,  cheerful  drawing-room  • 
he  pretending  to  look  over  some  papers,  she  playing  dreamily  on  the  piano.  Cissy  is 
no  great  musician,  but  music  has  a strange  effect  upon  her.  You  could  almost  swear 
to  her  mood  if  you  heard  her  fingers  running  over  the  instrument  when  alone.  To- 
night she  is  apparently  somewhat  sad,  to  judge  by  the  mournful  melodies  that  fall 
from  her  fingers.  At  last  she  gently  closes  the  piano,  comes  across  to  the  fireplace, 
and  leans  listlessly  on  the  mantel-piece. 

“ Cissy,”  says  her  husband,  struggling  hard  to  make  his  tones  indifferent,  “ who 
was  it  you  were  speaking  to  the  day  before  yesterday  when  I overtook  you  ? ” 

It  has  come  at  last  then.  She  knew  it  was  impending.  How  shall  she  meet  it  T 
Siie  hesitates  for  a moment,  not  that  any  idea  of  subterfuge  has  entered  her  head, 
but  she  wants  to  think  what  is  best  to  say  upon  the  subject. 

“ He  was  an  old  friend,  Montague,  one  of  my  very  oldest ; one  who  has  been  very 
kind  to  me  in  times  gone  by.  But  I cannot  tell  you  his  name.  He  has  implored  me 
to  keep  his  presence  in  this  countiy  a secret.” 

“ If  you  met  him  by  accident,  I have  no  more  to  say,”  replied  her  husband,  in 
slow,  measured  tones ; “ but  Paynter  mentioned  having  seen  you  with  an  unknown 
individual,  who  was  doubtless  the  same.” 

Cissy  paused  for  a moment,  then,  rearing  her  head  defiantly,  exclaimed : — 

“ I met  him  by  appointment  upon  both  occasions.  ” 

“ Then  I demand  to  know  who  it  is  you  meet  thus.” 

“ I cannot  tell  you.  I have  promised  to  keep  his  secret.  Montague,  can  you  not 
trust  me  ? ” 

“Yes,  I do;  but  the  world  is  uncharitable.  A wife’s  fame  should  be  in  her  hus- 
band’s keeping.  Cissy,  give  me  your  word  you  will  not  meet  this  man  again,  and  I 
say  no  more.” 

He  gazed  at  her  anxiously.  It  was  no  unreasonable  request ; no  more  than  he  had 
both  right  and  reason  to  demand ; and  yet  such  was  his  love  for  this  woman  that  his 
heart  stood  still  as  he  listened  for  her  reply.  If  she  should  refuse,  then  he  felt  there 
must  open  a gap  between  them  he  would  never  bridge. 

“ I will  not,”  she  said,  proudly.  “ Have  you  so  little  faith  in  the  woman  you  have 
made  your  wife  as  this  ? Does  the  love  you  have  professed  meau  that  she  is  to  know 


156 


Two  Kisses. 


nobody  without  your  leave  and  license  ? that  she  is  to  drop  old  friends  because  jou 
have  never  yet  met  them  ? Have  you  no  belief  in  me,  Montague  ? ” 

“Don’t  be  absurd,  Cissy,”  he  replied,  in  somewhat  husky  tones.  “ I have  no  wish 
to  control  your  movements,  or  supervise  your  acquaintance ; but  I may  be  allowed  to 
object  to  your  meeting  a man  clandestinely,  of  whose  very  name  I am  ignorant, 
without  being  deemed  a very  tyrannous  husband  either.” 

Still  it  never  entered  her  head  that  he  could  think  it  possible  that  she  was  granting 
rendezvous  to  a lover.  She  only  thought  that  he  feared  her  being  compromised  in 
the  world’s  eyes,  by  owning  to  an  acquaintance  on  whom  that  world  looked  askew, 
as  her  father  had  cordially  owned  it  did  on  him  to  a certain  extent.  That  her  father 
could  be  deemed  her  lover,  under  any  possible  circumstances,  would  always  be  very 
slow  to  occur  to  a daughter’s  imagination.  What  she  would  have  seen  at  a glance  in 
any  other  case  than  her  own,  what  would  have  been  transparent  to  a woman  of  the 
world,  as  Cissy  was,  under  any  other  circumstances,  she  was  utterly  blind  to  now. 

“ You  intend,  then,  to  control  my  movements,”  she  cried  indignantly.  “ Am  I to 
consider  myself  under  surveillance,  — that  my  outgoings  and  incomings  are  watched  r 
Speak,  sir,  is  that  your  intention  ? ” 

Yes,  it  was  as  he  had  thought,  — this  thing  would  breed  bitter  quarrel  between  them ; 
)ut  Montague  Gore’s  face  hardened,  and  his  lips  were  drawn  tight  as  he  replied  in  a 
^eep,  stern  voice : — 

“ You  have  no  right  to  say  that.  It  is  a sharp  taunt  to  hurl  at  me.  What  I wit- 
nessed was  by  purest  accident.  What  I heard  Paynter  say,  you  heard  also.  I would 
; jeorn  to  watch  you  in  any  way ; I have  no  intention  of  doing  so.  I forbid  you  to  see 
this  man  again.  If  it  comes  to  my  knowledge  you  have  done  so,  I shall  then  take 
such  steps  as  I deem  necessary.” 

If  he  had  said,  “ I ask  you  not  to  see  this  man  again,”  instead  of  “ 1 forbid,”  Cissy 
might  have  answered  differently ; but  the  spirit  of  defiance  was  roused  in  her  now. 

“ I decline,”  she  replied  haughtily,  “ to  pledge  myself  upon  the  subject.  To  watch 
a woman  is  to  distrust  her.” 

“I  never  watched  you,  and  never  will,”  he  broke  in  passionately.  “For  God’s 
sake,  go  your  own  way ! Don’t  blame  me  if  I should  refuse  to  bear  with  it.” 

She  was  touched  by  his  evident  emotion.  She  felt  more  tender  towards  him  at  this 
moment  than  she,  perhaps,  had  ever  done  before,  though  she  was  trying  him  so 
hardly.  It  is  often  so.  Many  a quarrel  would  have  ended  happily,  if  either  could 
have  seen  midst  the  angry  words  the  one  second  when  the  gleam  of  the  old  sunshine 
flashed  through  the  storm-clouds.  But  we  never  do.  That  soft  answer  that  turneth 
away  wrath  is  so  seldom  given. 

We  hurl  back  taunt  for  taunt,  and  gibe  for  gibe.  Between  those  who  love  most 
are  ever  the  most  unappeasable  quarrels.  The  sharp  word,  the  stinging  sarcasm, 
comes  doubly  home  from  the  lips  of  those  we  love ; and  then  there  is  another 
the  old  story : — * 


Montague  Gore  Remonstrates. 


157 


“ Alas ! they  had  been  friends  in  youth; 

But  whispering  tongues  will  poison  truth.” 

Ah,  well,  we  all  know  how  our  friends  take  good  care  such  wounds  are  nevei 
healed  again;  how  angry  speech  made  in  the  first  tumult  of  passion  is  faithfully 
reported  to  those  ears  it  should  never  reach ; and  the  abyss  widens  day  by  day,  till  it 
becomes  unbridgeable  in  this  life. 

Cissy  remained  silent  for  some  minutes,  but  there  was  a marvellous  softeni  ng  in 
her  voice  when  she  spoke. 

“ Montague,”  she  said,  gently,  “ what  is  it  you  suspect  ? What  is  it  you  fear  ? ” 

“ I suspect  nothing,”  he  returned,  and  knew  that  as  he  uttered  the  words  he  lied ; 
“ but  I fear  much.” 

“ What  ? ” 

“ The  wreck  of  my  life’s  happiness.  You  persist  in  your  right  to  meet  this  — this 
adventurer,  I’ll  call  him.” 

“ Yes,  I must.  Trust  me,  Montague.  It  is  not  my  own  secret,  or  you  should 
know  it  this  minute.  It  will  be  cleared  up  ere  very  long.  Can  you  not  believe  in  me 
for  a little  ? ” 

She  came  across  to  him  as  she  said  this,  and  leaned  over  the  arm  of  his  chair  caress- 
ingly. It  was  a great  concession  for  Cissy  to  make,  for,  as  we  know,  she  was  little 
addicted  to  such  blandishments  towards  her  husband ; but  he  was  blind  to  everything 
but  this  fierce  jealousy  which  possessed  him. 

li  Say  you  will  see  him  no  more,  and  I will  believe  in  you,”  he  replied,  curtly. 

“ I cannot  do  that,”  she  replied,  quickly,  and  turning  abruptly  from  him. 

“ On  your  head  be  it,  then,”  he  rejoined,  roughly,  “ if  my  trust  is  shaken.  You 
know  how  1 have  loved  you.  Suspicion  is  a canker  that  makes  love  die  apace.” 

“ You  are  right,”  she  rejoined,  sharply,  as  she  lit  her  candle.  “ To  be  suspected 
without  just  grounds  is  folly,  I have  heard  in  my  old  Paris  days.  You  need  not  fear 
that  of  me,  Montague ; but  the  man  who  cannot  trust  his  wife  is  stuffing  his  couch 
with  thorns,  believe  me.  Good-night;  ” and  she  swept  from  the  room  with  proud 
Indignation. 

You  might  have  deemed  she  retired  an  outraged  wife  had  you  seen  that  exit. 
Surely  her  husband  had  fair  grounds  for  remonstrance.  But  women  will  apparently 
put  us  in  the  wrong  upon  such  occasions,  do  we  our  spiriting  wisely  and  gently  as 

we  may. 

As  for  Gore,  he  sat  for  some  time  with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands.  He  had 
raised  a wall  between  him  and  his  wife  that  would  not  be  easy  to  pull  dowv 
►gain.  lie  felt  they  were  wider  apart  now  than  ever ; and  yet,  if  he  had  buf 
responded  that  overture  on  her  part  generously,  he  had  been  nearer  winning  he? 
love  than  he  had  ever  been  yet.  As  it  was,  his  thoughts  shaped  themselves  some 
what  in  this  wise  — 


158 


Two  Kisses. 


“ If  you  loved  me  ever  so  little, 

I could  bear  the  bonds  that  «*U5 
I eould  dream  the  bonds  were  brittle : 
You  do  not  love  at  all.’* 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WHAT  SHOULD  YOU  CALL  RICH? 

Whsn  Bessie’s  engagement  was  formally  announced,  there  was  much  flutter  and 
agitation  in  Roseneath  House.  Aunt  Clementina  congratulated  the  girl  heartily ; but 
Miss  Matilda  took  a different  view.  She  asserted  that  military  men  were  a class 
upon  whom  no  reliance  could  be  placed;  that  they  were  here  to-day,  and  gone 
to-morrow.  When  Miss  Clementina  hinted  that  was  the  common  lot  of  humanity, 
she  rebuked  her  sharply : — 

“You  know  what  I mean,  Clem ; so  don’t  pretend  you  do  not.  You  know  they 
never  know  where  they  may  be  this  time  twelvemonth.  Poor  Bessie  may  find  her- 
self on  the  borders  of  the  Dead  sea,  or  in  the  deserts  of  Astracan  before  many  months 
are  over.  Captain  Detfield,  of  course,  must  go  where  duty,  or  glory,  or  whatever 
it  is,  calls  him.  He  may  be  summoned  to  kill  black  people  in  Africa,  or  copper-colored 
ones  in  Asia.  In  these  times,  apearently,  civilization  always  requires  that  battles  and 
sieges,  and  such  things,  should  be  taking  place  somewhere.  Why  couldn’t  she  choose 
a clergyman  ? There’s  safety  in  that.  But  these  soldiers,  oh,  dear ! they’re  always 
away,  and  ‘ find  in  each  port  a new  wife,’  as  somebody  says  in  a song,  or  a play,  or 
something.  I believe,  certainly,  that  was  said  relative  to  the  navy ; but  the  army,  I 
dare  say,  is  no  better.” 

Miss  Matilda,  in  short,  for  two  days  made  Roseneath  House  very  uncomfortable. 
She  told  her  sister  that  she  ought  to  have  seen  what,  in  truth,  Miss  Clementina  had 
seen ; that  she  ought  to  have  prevented  it ; that  she  should  have  given  her  a hint  of 
this  some  time  ago,  and  she  would  have  soon  sent  Captain  Detfield  about  his  business. 
In  vain  did  Aunt  Clem  urge  that  the  guardsman  was  a very  nice  match  for  Bessie ; 
Miss  Matilda  set  her  face  against  soldiers.  They  were  men  of  neither  morals,  piety, 
nor  principles ; their  trade  was  murder.  Why  could  not  her  niece  have  chosen  a 
husband  from  a more  peaceful  profession  ? The  Reverend  Alexander  Sad  man,  the 
evangelical  light  of  Islington,  had  deigned  to  admire  Bessie,  and  professed  a desire  to 
snatch  her  as  a brand  from  the  burning.  But  here  Bessie  retorted  so  fiercely,  vowing 
that,  if  there  were  not  another  man  alive,  nothing  should  induce  her  to  bestow  her 
hand  upon  that  clergyman,  that  Aunt  Matilda  felt  a little  cowed. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  two  days  she  had  arrived  at  resignation.  Well,  they  must 
Blake  the  best  of  it.  Thanks  to  Clementina’s  folly  and  Bessie’s  obstinate  infatuation 


What  Should  You  Call  Rich  f 


159 


there  was  no  more  to  be  said.  She  hoped  she  had  done  her  duty ; she  had  warned 
her.  But  when  Bessie  had  nestled  up  to  her,  with  her  own  sweet  smile,  and 
whispeied,  “Won’t  you  do  one  thing  more,  Aunt  Matilda,  — congratulate  me?*' 
the  good  lady  fairly  broke  down,  cried  a little,  and  replied,  “ Bless  you,  child,  may 
you  be  happy,  though  he  is  a soldier.” 

“ You’ve  got  over  me,  my  dear,”  continued  Miss  Matilda,  when  her  emotion  had  a 
little  subsided ; “ the  next  question  is,  whether  you  can  get  over  Mr.  Boxby.  Re- 
member, Bessie,  he,  like  myself,  is  your  guardian,  and  rather  a more  important 
guardian  than  I am ; you  have  always  wheedled  me  into  letting  you  have  your  own 
way,  since  you  were  a wee  thing  in  short  petticoats ; but  Mr.  Roxby,  my  darling,  is 
made  of  sterner  stuff.” 

Quite  prepared  now  is  Miss  Matilda,  with  all  the  inconsistency  of  her  nature,  to 
take  her  niece’s  part  against  Roxby,  should  it  be  necessary,  — take  it,  too,  with  strong 
prejudice  in  favor  of  this  lover  she  has  so  lately  condemned,  with  an  obstinacy  and 
disregard  of  argument  known  only  to  her  sex. 

“ It  was  very  clever  of  you,  Charlie,”  said  Miss  Bessie,  one  afternoon,  as  they  sat 
by  themselves  in  the  drawing-room,  “ to  point  out  to  Aunt  Matilda  that  the  army, 
besides  fighting  abroad,  were  the  upholders  of  the  crown,  church,  and  order  at 
home.” 

“Well,  you  see,  pet,  it  was  necessary  to  disabuse  Miss  Stanbury  of  the  idea  that 
we  were  mere  hired  bravadoes,  whose  mission  it  was  to  go  on  continual  cut-throat 
expeditions  into  foreign  lands.  I don’t  really  think  we  have  much  to  do  with  uphold- 
ing church  and  state,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I only  know  that  the  fellows,  who 
talk  sedition  at  the  foot  of  the  Nelson  column,  won’t  find  us  fraternize  as  the  soldiers 
do  in  Paris ; as  the  old  song  says : — 

“ ‘ Ere  the  king’s  crown  goes  down,  there  are  crowns  to  be  broke.' 

The  demagogues  needn’t  imagine  we  shall  not  stand  to  our  colors,  if  they  ever  ven- 
ture to  try  the  question ; and  our  men  follow  their  officers.” 

“ Well,  never  mind  that  now.  I want  to  talk  to  you  about  something  much  more 
serious.”  ^ 

“ What  a disloyal  little  girl  it  is,”  replied  Detfield,  laughing, — “ as  if  anything  could 
be  more  serious  than  the  safety  of  the  crown  and  our  institutions.” 

“ Now  do  be  serious,  Charlie ! You  have  got  to  see  Mr.  Roxby,  and  you  know  he 
may  say  — ” 

“ That  you  are  much  too  good  for  me,”  interrupted  Detfield.  “ He  will  be  right, 
— you  are.” 

“ Stop ; do  listen  to  me,”  cried  the  girl,  as  she  moved  across  to  his  side ; “ I have 
something  to  tell  you.” 

“ I am  all  ears,  ma  mie”  replied  her  lover,  as  he  passed  bis  arm  around  her  slender 
Waist,  and  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

11 


160 


Two  Kisses. 


" Wei],  you  know,  1 an  afraid  he  will  object  to  our  engagement.*’ 

“ Let  him;  what  doe3  it  matter?  You  have  promised  to  wait,  an  1 I am  afraid 
before  I can  claim  you  it  will  be  past  his  power  to  object.  You  will  have  the  right  to 
dispose  of  yourself  without  reference  to  Roxby.” 

“ But,  Charlie,  suppose  I have  some  money  ? I am  so  glad  I have,  for  your  sake.” 
“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” inquired  Detfield,  curiously.  He  had  no  suspicion  as  yet 
that  she  was  an  heiress.  That  she  might  have  some  little  of  her  own  was,  of  course, 
possible. 

“ But  I have  a good  deal  of  money,  at  least  what  I think  a good  deal  of  money. 
What  should  you  think  a good  deal  for  your  wife  to  bring  you  ? ” and,  as  she  spoke, 
she  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder,  and  peered  inquisitively  into  his  face. 

“ I have  never  thought  one  atom  about  it,  Bessie.  I took  you  for  yourself,  sweet. 
If  I had  thought  you  were  rich,  I don’t  think  I should  have  ever  asked  you  to  be  my 
wife.” 

“ Be  quiet,  Charlie,”  replied  the  girl,  extricating  herself  a little  from  his  close 
embrace.  “ I want  to  know  what  you  would  call  rich  for  me.” 

“ You  are  rich  enough  in  yourself,  child.  What  makes  you  so  vain  of  your  small 
fortune  ? ” 

“ But  it  isn’t  small,”  she  replied,  in  quick,  earnest  tones ; “ at  least,  I’m  told  not. 
What  would  you  consider  a big  fortune  to  get  with  your  wife  ? ” 

“ What  is  it  you  mean  ? I don’t  understand  you.” 

“ Answer  my  question.” 

“ Well,  if  you  have  three  or  four  thousand  pounds  of  your  own,  Bessie,  it  would 
be  pretty  pin-money  for  you,  child.” 

“ But  I’ve  a great  deal  more  than  that,”  she  cried,  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  clap- 
ping her  hands.  “ Your  wife,  sir,  will  be  a rich  woman.” 

He  had  solved  now  the  one  thing  she  was  so  curious  to  know.  She  knew  he 
had  taken  her  for  herself,  but  what  she  did  wish  to  learn  was  what  he  would  consider 
a fortune. 

Detfield  gazed  at  her  in  blank  bewilderment,  and  his  face  of  blank  astonishment 
redoubled  the  girl’s  merriment. 

“ Listen,  Charlie,”  she  exclaimed  at  length,  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck. 
“ You  thought  we  were  going  to  be,  oh,  so  poor ! Well,  we  are  not.  I shan’t  have 
to  clean  the  grates,  and  you  won’t  have  to  addle  your  brains  money-making  either. 
I am  the  proud  possessor,  they  tell  me,  of — Stop ! guess,  — guess,  I insist.” 

But  he  remained  mute. 

" Did  you  say  ten  thousand  pounds  ? Not  near  enough,  Charlie.  No,  twenty  won’t 
do.  I believe  I have  thirty  to  bring  you ; and,  my  darling,  I give  it  you  with  all  my 
heart,”  and  the  soft  lips  sought  his,  and  the  remainder  of  her  speech  was  of  a kina, 
which  those  who  have  loved  can  imagine,  but  those  who  narrate  cannot  describe. 

Detfield  was  dumfounded.  He  had  paid  these  Islington  visits  with  most  mercenary 
motives.  He  had  paid  strenuous  court  to  Mammon,  and  all  the  while  the  purer  love 


What  Should  You  Call  Rich  t 


161 


had  eclipsed  it.  He  had  failed  lamentably  in  his  scheme,  and  yet  it  seemed  that  he 
had  wooed  and  won  Danae,  after  all.  It  was  impossible  to  look  upon  Bessie’s  sweet 
face  and  doubt  the  truth  of  her  statement.  He  had  broken  into  the  brazen  chamber 
unwittingly. 

“ Are  you  not  glad,  Charlie,”  she  said,  at  length,  “ to  find  that  we  shall  not  be 
quite  so  poor  as  you  thought  ? ” 

The  troubled  expression  of  his  face  frightened  her ; and  still  he  sat  mute,  though 
holding  her  close  in  his  arms. 

“ My  darling,  I am  not  quite  sure,”  he  replied,  slowly,  at  length.  “ What  looked 
so  easy  just  now  appears  very  differently  after  your  confession.  I had  no  idea  of  this 
It’s  God’s  truth  I thought  you  were  portionless.  That  you  might  have  money  some 
day  I deemed  probable.  But,  Bessie,  I wooed  you  for  yourself,  and  never  counted 
upon  such  chances.  Do  you  believe  ? ” 

“ Yes,  entirely.  I know  it.” 

“ Well,  you  see  now,  speaking  to  your  guardian  becomes  a very  different  thing.  I, 
a ruined  spendthrift,  am  going  to  ask  for  the  hand  of  a girl  of  fortune.  When  I 
thought  you  had  next  to  nothing  it  seemed  simple.  As  it  is,  he  has  a right  to  object, 
and  object  strongly.” 

“ Let  him.;  what  does  it  matter  ? The  time  must  come  when  my  money  will  be 
my  own,”  cried  the  girl,  proudly.  “ I said  I would  wait  for  you  and  trust  in  you, 
Charlie.  Do  you  think  I am  less  likely  to  do  it  now  than  when  you  thought  me 
penniless  ? ” and  she  gazed  anxiously  into  his  face. 

“ But,  Bessie,  they  will  tell  you  that  you  can  do  much  better  than  marry  me.” 

“ That  happens  to  be  a question  Bessie,  sooner  or  later,  must  solve  for  herself.  She 
tells  you  now  that  you  have  won  her  heart.  If  you  love  me,  Charlie,  you’ll  not 
blench  because  there  may  be  difficulties  in  the  way.” 

Detfield  looked  at  her  for  a moment ; but  the  proud,  passionate  love  that  he  read 
in  her  eyes  would  have  made  most  men  swear  to  win  her,  let  the  obstacles  be  what 
they  might. 

“God  bless  you,  child!”  he  whispered,  as  he  kissed  her.  “With  a fortune  or 
without,  you’re  mine,  are  you  not  ? ” 

“ Yes,  with  a fortune,  Charlie,”  she  replied,  smiling,  and  looking  up  into  his  face. 

“ Better  so  for  both  our  sakes.  But  I am  off  now  to  confront  this  guardian  of 
yours.  He  has  been  civil  enough  to  me  whenever  I have  met  him;  but  present 
circumstances  may  change  his  tone.  A chance  acquaintance  and  a candidate  for  the 
hand  of  his  heiress  ward  are  very  different  men.” 

“ Hush,  Charlie  dear!  no  more  about  the  heiress  if  you  love  me.  You  are  going 
to  ask  my  guardian’s  consent  to  our  engagement ; and,  remember,  I am  as  anxious  as 
you  to  know  what  he  says.” 

“ Good-by,  sweet.  I will  send  you  a note  this  evening  to  tell  you  what  may  be  the 
result  of  our  interview.” 

Once  more  tha  lovers’  lips  met,  and  then  Detfield  tore  himself  away. 


Twe  Kisses. 


163 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MB.  BOXBT  AS  A GUARDIAN. 

Much  too  earnest  in  his  love  was  Detfield  to  dream  of  postponement  of  his  inter* 
view  with  Roxby.  We  all  know  that  laissez  alter  stage  of  fast  life,  when  the  main 
point  is  to  put  off  the  disagreebles  as  long  as  possible ; when  the  facing  of  our  diffi- 
culties is  a thing  to  be  deferred  as  long  as  feasible.  We  know  it,  also,  when  we  have 
sobered  down,  and  such  things  are  supposed  to  be  circumstances  of  the  past.  We 
withhold  from  the  wife  of  our  bosom  the  results  of  that  last  disastrous  speculation. 
We  delay,  yes,  would  fain  always  delay,  confiding  to  our  friends  the  failures  we  have 
made ; wonderfully  reticent  we  are  always  about  these  failures.  When  our  play, 
novel,  or  investment  has  turned  out  a perfect  fiasco,  how  we  do  gloss  it  over,  and 
demonstrate  that  it  is  malevolent  fortune  only  that  is  the  cause  of  our  weeping  and 
wailing!  Does  the  man  exist  who  will  own  to  having  written  a bad  stoiy,  a bad 
drama,  or  embarked  in  unsound  speculation  ? No,  my  brethren ; critics,  the  public,  the 
stock  exchange,  etc.,  know  naught.  It  was  the  Fates  that  were  against  us.  What  a 
blessing  to  think  it  was  fate  and  no  shortcomings  on  our  own  part ! How  comforting 
to  reflect  that  we,  at  least,  have  nothing  to  reproach  ourselves  with ! 

Charlie  Detfield,  as  he  walks  down  to  the  city  to  see  Mr.  Roxby,  ponders  a good 
deal,  as  is  natural,  upon  what  he  knows  of  this  guardian  of  Bessie’s : a pleasant, 
jovial,  genial  gentleman,  in  vast  expanse  of  white  waistcoat,  with  ties  to  match,  more 
voluminous  than  suit  the  guardsman’s  idea  of  dress.  But  he  is  aware  that  breadth 
of  necktie  is  associated  with  the  consumption  of  turtle,  and  the  manufacture  of 
money.  He  tolerates  these  little  eccentricities  of  evening  toilet  as  a part  of  the 
vocation  to  which  Roxby  is  affiliated.  Charlie  reflects  that  he  has  seen  country 
gentremen  of  good  repute  and  high  esteem  in  their  several  counties  with  similar  pro- 
clivities regarding  costume.  But  what  he  tries  hard  to  recollect  is  what  he  can  of 
Roxby ’s  manner ; in  short,  what  manner  of  man  is  Roxby. 

A very  difficult  problem  to  solve  that  till  you  test  it.  Your  genial  friend  over  night 
turns  out  a veiy  hard  man  to  do  business  with  next  morning.  Do  you  recollect  that 
story  of  the  Lord  Mansfield,  who,  after  passing  a pleasant  evening  with  Dr.  Brocklesby, 
happened  to  have  that  illustrious  physician  brought  before  him  as  an  evidence  in  some 
case  the  next  morning  ? The  doctor  nodded  affably,  as  he  entered  the  witness-box ; 
the  judge  took  no  notice,  but  when  he  came  to  sum  up  he  alluded  to  him  in  this  wise : 
“ The  next  witness  is  one  Brocklesby  or  Rocklesby,  I am  not  sure  which,  and  first  he 
swears  that  he  is  a physician.” 

No,  you  cannot  quite  arrive  at  the  conclusion  as  to  what  a man  is,  if  you  have  only 
met  him  over  port- wine  and  walnuts.  And  this  was  about  the  extent  of  Detfield’s 
knowledge  of  Roxby.  But  be  wu  no  whit  the  leas  determined  on  this  account,  in 


Mr.  Roxby  as  a Guardian. 


163 


boinely  phrase,  to  have  it  out  with  that  eminent  financier.  Still  he  did  wish  taat  he 
knew  a little  more  about  Roxby.  Pie  had  indistinct  visions  of  having,  upon  two  or 
three  occasions,  treated  that  gentleman  with  supercilious  indifference.  What  was 
Hecuba  to  him,  or  he  to  Ilecuba?  He  had  little  thought,  then,  that  Roxby  might 
have  a good  deal  to  say  to  a most  important  step  in  his  life.  It  is  ever  so ; and  a care- 
less jest  or  cynical  remark  often  mars  a man’s  career  more  than  he  dreams  of.  That 
Is  why  the  stupid  people,  who  can’t  talk,  so  constantly  beat  their  more  brilliant  cojl- 
painots  in  the  race  of  life.  To  be  a good  listener  is  to  forward  your  interests  in  this 
world.  To  be  a good  talker  is  a very  dubious  advantage. 

At  last  Detfield  arrives  in  Fenchurch  street,  the  place  in  which  Roxby  transacted 
his  multifarious  business ; for  he  was  a man  of  much  speculation  and  enterprise,  this 
guardian  of  Bessie’s.  He  was  always  floating  companies,  or  winding  them  up,  taking 
shares  or  selling  them,  promoting  financial  undertakings  to  benefit  his  fellow-creatures,, 
or  picking  the  bones  of  such  enterprises  when  they  had  proved  to  be  founded  on 
sandy  foundations,  — as  in  good  truth  many  of  the  schemes  offered  by  Roxby  and  his 
friends  to  the  credulous  public  turned  out  to  be.  Still  Mr.  Roxby  was  regarded  on 
’change  as  a man  who  could  take  pretty  fair  care  of  himself;  and  if  his  Central 
African  Railways  or  Nebraska  Mining  Company  had  proved  rather  disastrous  invest- 
ments to  shareholders,  the  city  generally  did  not  think  Mr.  Roxby  personally  had  lost 
much  money  in  those  high-sounding  speculations. 

But  to  see  this  active  gentleman  in  his  hive  was  not  quite  so  easy  as  Detfield  had 
anticipated.  lie  was  asked  to  sit  down  and  wait,  while  a clerk  having  politely  handed 
him  a portion  of  the  “ Times,”  took  his  card  in.  The  supplement  of  the  “ Times  ” did 
not  amuse  Detfield.  It  does  not  some  people,  though  I am  never  clear  that  it  is  not  the 
most  entertaining  part  of  that  paper.  But  the  other  sheets  were  in  the  hands  of  two 
other  gentlemen,  who  were  fidgeting  on  then’  chairs,  and  literally  snorting  with 
impatience  for  an  interview  with  the  great  financier.  At  first  Charlie  watched  his 
companions  lazily,  and  with  some  little  amusemment ; but  gradually  he  arrived  at  that 
state  ol  irritation  which  they  had  already  attained. 

At  the  expiration  of  half  an  hour  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a note,  requesting  to  see 
Mr.  Roxby  on  business  of  the  utmost  importance.  Mr.  Roxby  sent  down  a line  in 
reply,  to  say  that  he  was  up  to  his  eyes  already  in  business  of  that  nature,  and  likely 
to  remain  so ; would  Captain  Detfield  give  him  the  pleasure  of  his  company  at  din- 
ner, seven  sharp  ? Having  signified  assent,  Charlie  departed ; but  even  this  had  a 
somewhat  depressing  effect  upon  him.  He  had  promised  to  write  that  night  to 
Bessie,  and  tell  her  what  her  guardian  had  said.  This,  now,  was  impossible. 

Punctual  to  time  did  Detfield  drive  up  to  Roxby ’s  house,  in  Gordon  square,  a quiet 
and  well-appointed  bachelor’s  establishment.  Here,  at  all  events,  he  had  not  long  to 
wait.  He  had  been  scarce  five  minutes  in  the  drawing-room  before  his  host  appeared, 
and  apologized  laughingly  for  not  seeing  him  in  the  city. 

“ But,  my  dear  Detfield,  there  is  business  and  business ; I always  have  my  hands 
fall,  and,  unless  I am  much  mistaken,  yours  can  be  discussed  comfortably  over  our 


164 


Two  Kisses. 


claret  after  dinner.  East  of  Temple  Bar,  you  see,  time  is  money.  Now  when  yon 
have  partaken  of  what  my  cook  has  been  able  to  improvise  for  us  at  short  notice,  X 
shall  be  quite  at  your  service,  — ready  to  listen  and  discuss.  Come  along.” 

Very  little  need  to  apologize  for  that  dinner.  It  was  as  good  as  two  men  could 
well  sit  down  to,  and  Roxby  was  much  too  experienced  a tactician  to  dwell  upon 
shortcomings  which  he  knew  did  not  exist. 

“ I pay  my  servants  high,”  he  replied,  in  answer  to  a complimentary  remark  of  his 
guest’s  on  the  entertainment,  as  they  sat  over  their  wine,  “ and  let  them  cheat  me 
pretty  much  as  they  will ; they  know  there’s  only  one  thing  I won’t  submit  to,  — short- 
comings on  any  point.  I take  no  excuse.  If  they  are  not  equal  to  emergencies, 
they  are  not  fit  for  my  place.  My  cook  was  telegraphed  to  five  minutes  after  you 
sent  up  your  assent  to  dine  here.  I should  have  expected  her  to  find  a decent  dinner 
for  half  a score  at  such  notice.  Of  course  she  can  do  better  with  more  time ; but  in 
London,  with  carte  blanche , if  a woman  can’t  improvise  something  decent  in  four 
hours  she  won’t  do  for  me.” 

“ Well,  I should  say  you  are  pretty  fairly  suited.” 

“ Yes.  All  these  things  are  a mere  question  of  money.  What  you  want  is  always 
in  the  market,  if  you  can  afford  to  pay  for  it.  Pictures,  china,  moors  in  Scotland, 
country-house,  anything  you  like.  I’m  a moderate  man ; I go  in  for  comfort.  This 
is  not  a big  house,  — I don’t  want  one,  — but  it  is  furnished  as  luxuriously,  to  my  tastes, 
as  is  possible.  My  one  hobby  is  perfectly-trained  servants.  I don’t  often  keep  them 
over  three  years ; they  begin  to  think  then  you  can’t  do  without  them,  as  if  there 
were  not  quite  as  good  to  be  had  as  ever  were  parted  with.  No,  don’t  pass  that 
claret;  it’s  forty-eight,  and  you  won’t  meet  genuine  forty-eight  very  often  now- 
adays.” 

“But  I have  got  something  very  important  to  discuss  with  you,  Mr.  Roxby,” 
replied  Charlie,  as  he  filled  his  glass. 

“ Of  course  you  have,  my  dear  fellow,”  interposed  his  host ; “ but  we’ll  have  that 
presently  over  a cigar  and  our  coffee.  Haven’t  you  come  down  expressly  to  have  a 
talk,  the  subject  of  which  I can  make  a pretty  good  guess  about  ? But  never  mind 
that  yet,  finish  off  the  decanter,  and  we’ll  have  another  bottle.  The  wine’s  good 
enough  to  go  on  with  a little  longer.” 

Detfield  winced  at  the  familiarity  of  his  host.  Roxby  had  never  addressed  him  in 
this  easy  fashion  before,  and  Charlie  had  an  intuitive  feeling  that  it  boded  him  no 
good.  Most  men  would  have  heralded  it  as  a propitious  omen ; but  somehow  he  did 
not.  The  weather  was  rather  xoo  fine . Such  very  summery  mornings  often  end  in 
thunder-storms;  and  this  was  just  Detfield’s  sensation. 

It  certainly  did  not  occur  to  the  guardsman  that  his  host  was  pressing  him  to  drink ; 
but  it  was  so.  Mr.  Roxby  had  a somewhat  awkward  proposition  to  make,  and  he, 
from  the  depths  of  his  experience,  considered  that  these  things  were  mellowed  by 
wine ; that  they  rather  lost  their  grim  deformity  when  viewed  through  a considerable 
amount  of  liquor.  But  Charlie  was  no  neophyte,  and  it  took  a good  deal  of  claret  to 


Mr.  Roxby  as  a Guardian. 


165 


effect  him.  Still  we  do  know  that  what  appears  so  easy  in  the  smoking-room  over 
night  often  assumes  a veiy  different  aspect  the  next  morning;  our  difficulties  of 
nine  A.M.  shrink  as  the  night  wears  away.  The  creditors  that  have  appalled  a man 
over  his  tea  and  toast  are  men  of  buckram  after  supper.  But  cigars  and  coffee  appear 
at  last,  and  Charlie  goes  at  once  to  the  subject. 

“ Of  course  you  have  guessed,  Mr.  Roxby,  what  it  is  I have  to  say  to  yow  '* 

His  host  nodded. 

“ I love  your  ward,  and  she  has  consented  to  be  my  wife ; subject,  naturally,  to 
your  consent.” 

Diplomatic  this,  upon  Charlie’s  part.  As  arrangements  stood  between  him  and 
Bessie,  it  was  to  be  with,  if  possible,  — without,  if  not. 

“ Exactly,”  replied  Roxby,  slowly,  and  ejecting  a cloud  of  smoke  from  his  lips ; 
“ but  as  her  guardian,  I must  put  a ’question  or  two  to  you  before  I give  my  consent. 
Of  course,  as  far  as  position  goes,  etc.,  you’re  most  eligible;  but  then,  my  dear 
Detfield,  you  see  you’re  ruined.” 

“ Well,  I don’t  know  how  you  know  it,  but  I don’t  want  to  blink  the  fact,”  returned 
Charlie,  doggedly ; “ I am.” 

“ My  dear  sir,”  replied  Roxby,  as  he  flipped  the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  “ we  know 
all  this  kind  of  thing  in  the  city.” 

“ I told  her  so,”  continued  the  guardsman,  not  heeding  the  interruption ; “ and  it’s 
God’s  truth,  when  I asked  her  to  be  my  wife,  I had  no  idea  she  was  an  heiress.” 

Mr.  Roxby  smiled ; it  was  a smile  of  much  incredulity.  He  did  not  believe  this 
statement  in  the  least,  nad  not  his  tool,  Jenkens,  sought  out  this  ingenuous  young 
man,  and  introduced  him  to  Bessie  for  the  express  purpose  of  repairing  his  shattered 
fortunes  ? “ Well,  if  Captain  Detfield  wished  to  play  the  hypocrite  to  himself,  all  the 
better,”  thought  Mr.  Roxby.  “ When  a man  is  a hypocrite,  he  is  never  shocked  at  a 
little  piece  of  roguery.  Clever  fellow,  Jenkens,  — cleverer  than  I have  thought  him 
lately.  I was  half  afraid  he  had  made  a mistake  in  his  man.” 

So  musing,  Roxby  rubbed  his  hands  softly,  and  then  replied : — - 

“ Well,  now,  my  dear  Detfield,  you  have  found  out  your  mistake,  I presume  you  are 
fairly  satisfied  with  the  discovery.”  „ 

“ I am,  for  her  sake,”  rejoined  Charlie,  earnestly,  “ though  not  for  my  own.  It  makes 
what  I have  to  ask  of  you  considerably  more  difficult.  You’ve  a right  to  object  to  a 
ruined  man  being  engaged  to  your  ward,  who  is  rich ; if  she  had  been  poor,  it  would 
have  been  different.” 

“ Quite  so,”  replied  Roxby.  He  had  no  intention  of  making  Detfield’s  explanation 
easy  for  him.  It  would  hardly  suit  the  terms  he  intended  to  propose,  — the  bargain  he 
meant  to  make.  He  was  one  of  those  unscrupulous  men  w'ho  make  capital  out  of 
everything  they  do.  He  had  become,  by  accident,  guardian  to  a wealthy  ward ; she 
had  arrived  at  a marriageable  age.  Mr.  Roxby’s  intention  was  to  sell  her.  If  Detfield 
Would  not  pay  his  price,  somebody  less  nice  on  such  points  would.  At  present,  he 
thought  he  should  have  little  difficulty  in  driving  his  bargain.  A ruined  man,  wh® 


166 


Two  Kisses. 


opened  his  case  by  pretending  that  he  had  wooed  Bessie  in  ignorance  of  her  riches; 
“ No  need  to  be  very  scrupulous  with  him,”  thought  Boxby.  Of  the  real  state  of  the 
affair  it  was  of  course  impossible  he  could  have  a suspicion.  Of  the  mistake  Detfield 
had  been  led  into  regarding  Miss  Clementina,  he  had  no  conception.  All  he  knew 
was  that  his  agent,  Jenkens,  had  introduced  this  man  to  his  ward  with  a view  to 
“ marrying  money.”  Detfield  had  wooed  Bessie  with  his  eyes  open.  What  he  might 
choose  to  say  now  was  only  the  specious  gloss  men  throw  over  a transaction  of  which 
they  are  a little  ashamed. 

Boxby  had  considerable  contempt  for  such  weakness,  and  judged  men's  liaccidity 
of  character  rightly  a good  deal  by  such  small  traits.  He  had  reason.  If  you  intend 
to  be  a scoundrel,  do  not  be  that  meanest  of  beings,  a cowardly  one.  Though  we 
detest,  we  respect,  Iago ; we  despise  Macbeth. 

Charlie  had  expected  some  assistance  from  his  host,  some  sign  of  encouragement  to 
proceed,  at  all  events ; but  Mr.  Boxby  continued  to  smoke  placidly,  as  if  they  were 
conversing  upon  the  mere  topics  of  the  day.  After  a silence  of  some  minutes, 
Detfield  once  more  took  up  his  speech. 

“I  suppose,”  he  said,  “you  are  thinking  all  this  over.  Answer  me  one  thing. 
Will  you  give  me  Bessie  ? ” 

“ That  depends  on  the  result  of  this  conversation.  A man  who  has  succeeded  in 
ruining  himself  in  London  life,  and  has  got  to  your  years,  — though  they  are  not  very 
many,  still  you’ve  passed  the  age  of  puppydom  a good  bit,  — should  be  a man  of  the 
world.” 

He  paused  here,  but  Charlie  only  nodded. 

“Well,”  resumed  Boxby,  “you,  a broken  man,  many  my  ward  with  her  thirty 
thousand  pounds,  — she  has  that,  — pay  off  your  debts,  and  settle  down  as  a virtu- 
ous and  sober  member  of  the  community.  Not  very  bad  business  on  your  part, 
is  it?” 

“ I wooed  her  for  herself.  I had  no  idea  she  had  money.  I thought  Miss  Clemen- 
tina was  the  heiress,”  interposed  Charlie,  warmly. 

“ Devilish  clever,  by  Jove ! ” thought  Mr.  Boxby.  “ I have  seen  a good  many  of 
’em  declare  they  had  no  idea  the  lady  had  a fortune ; but  this  is  a master-stroke. 
This  young  man  is  really  brilliant.” 

“ Well,”  he  continued,  laughing,  “you’ve,  at  all  events,  made  a very  comfortable 
mistake,  Detfield,  on  your  side  of  the  ledger.  Now,  I am  going  to  talk  to  you  as  a 
man  of  the  world.  You’ll  make  a good  thing  of  this  marriage.  My  consent  is  of 
consequence  to  you.  Show  me  fair  reasons  for  giving  it.” 

“ I don’t  understand  you,”  replied  Charlie,  opening  his  eyes. 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! my  dear  fellow ; yes,  you  do-  I hate  fencing.  Let’s  come  to  the 
point.  Five  minutes  will  settle  it,  if  jrou  will  speak  plain.” 

“ I shall  have  to  understand  you  before  I can,”  replied  Charlie,  gravely,  now  most 
completely  puzzled. 


Mr.  Roxby  as  a Guardian. 


167 


u Psha ! ” returned  the  other,  impatiently,  u what  is  the  use  of  beating  about  the 
bush  in  this  fashion  ? Give  me  good  reasons  for  assenting  to  this  marriage.” 

Still  Charlie  stared  blankly  at  his  interlocutor. 

“ What,  you  want  it  put  still  plainer  ? ” continued  Roxby,  vehemently.  “ This 
match  will  be  a good  thing  for  you.'  What  is  it  going  to  be  worth  to  me  ? ” 

“ I see,”  replied  Detfield,  after  a short  pause.  “ You  mean  your  consent  must  be 
purchased.” 

“ Of  course  I do.  Why  couldn’t  you  speak  out  at  once  ? It  isn’t  likely  that  I am 
going  to  resign  the  good-will  of  a valuable  property  for  nothing.  You’re  a cool 
hand,  to  do  you  justice.  I suppose  you  wanted  to  draw  me  about  the  price.” 

“ Perhaps  so,”  replied  the  guardsman,  dryly. 

“ Well,  I never  hem  and  haw,”  resumed  Roxby,  in  jubilant  tones.  “It’s  not  my 
way  of  doing  business.  I buy  or  I sell  at  a jump.  I never  haggle  about  the  price 
when  I want  a thing,  and  I don’t  stand  beating  down  when  I sell.  Five  thousand  is 
my  figure.  It’s  not  much  more  than  fifteen  per  cent,  on  what  will  fall  to  you.” 

“ But  I haven’t  got  it,”  responded  Charlie,  with  the  greatest  composure. 

“ Of  course  you  haven’t ; but  you  will  have  as  soon  as  you  are  married  to  Bessie. 
I’ll  have  a deed  drawn  up  that  will  make  that  all  right.” 

“ Still,  you  see,  this  is  her  money,  not  mine,”  interposed  Detfield,  with  a peculiar 
blandness  that  might  have  warned  a less  excited  man  than  his  host  that  he  was  tread- 
ing on  dangerous  ground. 

But  Roxby,  ever  of  a sanguine  disposition,  warmed  with  the  wine  he  had  drank, 
and  quite  convinced  in  his  own  mind  that  Charlie  was  as  unprincipled  as  himself, 
— that  he  had  sought  Bessie’s  love  only  for  her  money,  and  that  all  this  affected  igno- 
rance was  but  mere  clever  fencing  on  his  part,  — saw  it  not  one  whit. 

“ Bah  ! ” he  rejoined,  laughing.  “ Leave  that  to  me.  I will  stand  your  friend 
when  the  settlements  are  made  out.  You  shall  have  no  cause  to  complain  that  they 
are  drawn  too  tightly.  Now,  what  do  you  say  ? ” 

“ Say  ? ” replied  Charlie,  slowly,  as  he  threw  his  cigar  into  the  grate.  “ I say  that 
you  are,  in  fact,  the  greatest  blackguard  it  was  ever  my  misfortune  to  dine  with.” 
“ Sir,  do  you  mean  to  insult  me  ? ” cried  Roxby,  springing  to  his  feet. 

“ I should  fancy  that  next  to  impossible,”  returned  Detfield,  rising  leisurely  from 
his  chair.  “Don’t  bluster;  it’s  only  gratuitous  noise,  you  know.  Out-and-out 
scoundrels  of  your  sort  are  never  physically  dangerous,  and  any  attempt  at  personal 
violence  will  only  recoil  on  your  own  head.  Good-night.” 

“ You  shall  never  marry  Bessie  Stanbury,”  cried  Roxby,  in  a voice  hoarse  with 
passion. 

“ I think  I shall.  We  shall  see.” 

“You  shall  be  rotting  in  a sponging-house  before  the  week  is  over,”  screamed 
Roxby.  “ You,  at  all  events,  cannot  afford  to  wait.” 

But  Charlie  vouchsafed  no  reply,  and  took  his  departure 


m 


Two  Kisses. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

A KISS  WITH  A STING  IN  IT. 

Montague  Gore  and  his  wife  have  drifted  slowly  apart  since  the  conversation  of  a 
few  evenings  back.  Cissy,  conscious  of  her  innocence,  and  in  no  wise  comprehend- 
ing how  much  jealousy  has  to  do  with  her  husband’s  remonstrance,  feels  indignant  at 
the  distrust  of  herself  conveyed  thereby.  She  knows  there  is  nothing  to  find  fault 
with  much  in  these  mysterious  meetings.  She  cannot  see  from  any  point  of  view  but 
her  own.  She  simply  deems  Montague  suspicious, — wanting  in  belief  of  the  recti- 
tude of  the  woman  he  has  made  his  wife. 

As  for  Gore,  with  him  suspicion  and  jealousy  have  grown  apace.  He  scorns  to 
take  any  note  of  his  wife’s  actions.  Even  when  the  post  comes  in,  he  glances  no 
more  at  the  letters  than  to  see  what  may  be  for  himself.  “ Mrs.  Gore  ” is  quite 
sufficient  to  prevent  his  looking  further.  He  asks  no  questions  now.  He  never 
demands,  as  he  did  in  their  early  days,  “ Who’s  your  correspondent,  Cissy  ? Has  he 
or  she  anything  amusing  to  say  ? ” Even  when  his  eye  catches  Mrs.  Paynter’s  well- 
known  calligraphy  his  tongue  is  silent. 

Cissy  is  beginning  to  interpret  this  in  a fashion  all  her  own.  She  cannot  believe 
that  all  this  cold  indifference  is  due  entirely  to  their  disagreement  (so  she  terms  it 
to  herself)  of  the  other  night.  She  also  is  gradually,  though,  as  yet,  somewhat 
mistily,  weaving  for  herself  a chemise  of  Nessus.  She  would  have  laughed  had  you 
told  her  so ; but  the  thread  of  jealousy  is  incorporated  with  this  fanciful  woof  that 
she  is  spinning.  She  muses  on  their  gradual  estrangement.  “ Surely  he  did  love  me 
dearly  once.  How  devoted  he  was  during  our  Continental  trip ! How  keen  always  to 
hear  what  Lizzie  had  to  say ! How  he  enjoyed  her  fun  and  gossip ! Now  he  never  asks 
what  may  be  in  her  letters,  is  it  this,  that  she  was  an  old  flame  ? She  speaks  of  him 
as  a very  old  friend ; we  do  call  our  former  loves  by  that  name  sometimes.  Has  the 
old  passion  once  more  reasserted  itself  and  extinguished  the  new ; has  love  for  Lizzie 
killed  his  fancy  for  me  ? It  must  have  been  but  a fancy  that  he  had  for  me ; yet,  if  it 
was  so,  how  do  men  speak  and  look  when  they  love  ? How  should  I know,  — I who 
never  have  had  love  to  give  to  man  ? Why  does  he  no  longer  care  to  see  her  letters  ? 
Can  it  be  that  he  has  letters  of  hers  to  read  that  I know  nothing  of  ? It  may  be.  It 
is  impossible  to  believe  that  because  I decline  to  give  up  occasionally  seeing  an  old 
friend,  who,  for  reasons  known  to  himself,  does  not  wish  to  face  society,  Montague 
should  treat  me  so  coldly.  There  must  be  something  more  than  that.”  Thus  argued 
Cissy,  turning  the  whole  thing  over  in  her  mind  pretty  constantly. 

As  may  be  easily  conceived,  under  such  circumstances,  the  estrangement  between 
them  widened  day  by  day.  Confidences  were  a thing  of  the  past.  Gore  sought  his 
house  only  just  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  Such  evenings  as  they  passed  at  home. 


A Kiss  with  a Sting  in  it. 


he  betook  himself  to  his  work,  and  left  Cissy  to  her  book, — jealousy  and  distrust 
gathering  on  both  sides;  the  husband  suffering  torture  that  he  strove  to  lull  to 
sleep,  as  in  the  old  sorrow  of  many  years  back,  by  dint  of  hard  work;  the  wffe 
slowly  awaking  to  a dull  feeling  of  pain,  that  she  felt  unable  to  comprehend,  but 
with  a proud  consciousness  of  unjust  treatment. 

It  was  net  to  be  supposed  that  the  discord  in  the  house  could  escape  the  sharp  eyes 
of  one  so  intimate  with  the  Gore  manage  as  Mrs.  Paynter.  That  lady  speedily  dis- 
covered that  there  was  something  wrong,  and  quickly  did  she  resolve  that  she  would 
know  the  rights  of  it.  Flighty,  volatile,  she  might  be,  but  Lizzie  Paynter  was  a very 
stanch  friend  to  those  she  loved,  and  these  were  two  people  she  had  a great  regard 
for.  She  did  think,  in  her  sanguine  way,  that  if  she  could  but  get  to  the  bottom  of 
this  misunderstanding,  which,  it  was  clear,  existed  between  Cissy  and  her  husband, 
it  was  possible  she  might  bring  them  together  again. 

“ It  will  be  difficult,”  mused  Mrs.  Paynter,  shaking  her  pretty  head  sagaciously. 
“ Interfering  between  husband  and  wife  is  a delicate  operation,  very.  Cissy,  too,  is 
getting  decidedly  repellant  in  her  manner  towards  me.  But,  my  dear  Cissy,  I like 
you  rather  too  well  to  stand  that.  I shall  have  it  out  some  time  when  you  don’t 
expect  it.  Montague,  too,  goes  about  moped  and  indifferent ; says  he’s  overworked. 
No,  Montie,  that  won’t  do  for  me.  It’s  something  a good  deal  more  than  overwork 
is  the  matter  with  you.” 

When  Mrs.  Paynter  talked  the  subject  over  with  her  husband,  she  was  rather 
astonished  at  the  way  he  spoke  concerning  her  scheme. 

“ Better  not,  Lizzie,”  he  said.  “ I see  as  well  as  you  do  that  things  are  working 
awry  between  Montie  Gore  and  his  wife.  I’ve  a wee  suspicion  about  the  cause.  No, 
I’m  not  going  to  tell  you  what  I fancy,  child.  I don’t  think  I ever  forbade  you  to  do 
anything  in  my  life.” 

“ But  you  are  going  to  now,  John,”  interposed  Mrs.  Paynter,  softly. 

“No,  I’m  not.  I’ve  belief  in  your  sharp  little  noddle,  and  wouldn’t  go  that  far; 
but  I think,  Lizzie,  you  will  interfere  to  no  good  now,  and  might  step  in  to  good  pur- 
pose later.” 

“ I disagree  with  you,  John  I must  try  to  clear  up  this  difference  between  them, 
providing,  after  a little,  I find  I’m  right  in  my  suspicions.” 

“ What  are  they  ? ” 

“ Ah ! you  wouIcj  like  to  know,  would  you  ? Confidence  for  confidence,  my  hus- 
band.” 

John  Paynter  shook  his  head. 

“ What,  you  won’t  ? Well,  John,  I think  Montie  is  suffering  from  an  attack  01 
jealousy.  Cissy,  I can’t  make  out,  — unless  it  is  she  is  indignant  at  being  unjustly 
suspected.” 

“ Look  here,  Lizzie ; I believe  in  your  friend,  but  I fancy  Montague  Gore  has  some 
reason  in  his  wrath.  If,  as  I tell  you,  Cissy  is  what  I think  her,  it  will  come  right 
without  your  putting  your  little  nose  into  the  business.” 


170 


Two  Kisses. 


“It  isn’t  so  very  small,”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  passing  her  delicate  fingers 

reflectively  over  the  organ  in  question. 

“ It’s  just  the  right  size,  and  very  pretty  to  boot,  you  vain  woman,”  retorted  her 

husband,  laughing. 

“ You  dear  old  John ! that’s  a very  sweet  speech  for  you ; but  I’ve  made  up  my 
mind.” 

“ To  interfere  ? ” 

“ Of  course.” 

“ Well,  Lizzie,  I hope  you  will  be  successful ; but  I own  I doubt  it.” 

“ Your  wife,  sir,”  she  rejoined,  laughing,  and  sweeping  him  a mock  courtesy,  “ is  a 
very  clever  woman,  although  you  have  never  quite  recognized  the  fact.” 

“ I only  know,”  said  her  husband,  smiling,  “ that  she  always  takes  her  own  way, 
and  usually  says  it  is  my  fault  when  it  proves  a failure.  I’m  off  to  smoke,”  he  con- 
tinued, rising. 

“ No ; smoke  here,”  returned  Lizzie. 

“ Not  a bit  of  it,  my  dear.  You  want  to  discuss  the  Gores*  case  all  night,  and  I’ve 
said  my  say.” 

“ You  ungracious  old  monster ! Go  and  commit  tobacco  in  your  own  den,  then ; ” 
but  the  riant  look  that  accompanied  the  speech  showed  that  Lizzie  and  her  husband 
understood  each  other  much  better  than  a short-sighted  world  usually  gave  them 
credit  for. 

Having  made  up  her  mind  to  interfere,  the  next  question  that  presented  itself  to 
Mrs.  Paynter  was,  on  which  side  it  would  be  most  judicious  to  commence  her  attack. 
Womanlike,  she  thought  she  could  do  more  with  a man  than  with  one  of  her  own 
sex.  Besides,  Mrs.  Gore  had  been  somewhat  cold  towards  her  of  late,  and  Lizzie 
wondered  at  times  what  was  the  meaning  of  that. 

“ She’s  piqued  about  something,”  argued  that  lady,  “ though  what  it  is,  I confess  I 
don’t  understand.  To  see  Montague  alone  in  Park  Crescent  will  be  difficult,  — what 
if  I invade  him  in  his  chambers  ? A bold  measure,  certainly ; but  then,  I rather  like 
bold  measures.  It’s  my  one  chance,  pretty  well,  of  seeing  him  alone.  I might  ask 
him  to  come  here  and  see  me,  it’s  true ; but  no,  I like  the  other  best ; there’s  more 
fun  in  it.  How  it  will  shock  one  or  two  dear  friends  of  mine  if  they  should  happen 
to  hear  of  it ! ” and  Lizzie  gave  way  to  a little  laugh  at  the  idea. 

Montague  Gore,  as  we  know,  had  chambers  in  the  Temple;  they  consisted  of 
three  rooms  opening  into  one  another.  In  the  days  they  had  been  residential  the 
outer  of  these  had  been  his  business-room,  the  next  his  sitting-room,  the  inner  his 
bedroom.  Since  his  marriage  the  outer  room  had  been  given  up  to  bis  clerk,  while 
the  sitting-room  had  been  turned  into  a waiting-room  for  clients,  communicating  with 
the  inner  room  of  all  by  a door,  the  upper  half  of  which  was  of  glazed  glass,  — glaze 
in  some  few  places  worn  away  so  that  it  was  possible  to  look  into  the  inner  room  if  a 
person  were  so  minded.  Gore  had  given  orders  once  or  twice  that  this  glass  should 
be  freshly  glazed,  but  so  far  it  had  not  been  attended  to.  A sultry  afternoon,  Mr. 


A Kiss  with  a Sting  in  It. 


171 


Kinglake  tells  us,  occasioned  in  some  measure  the  invasion  of  the  Crimea ; it  had 
been  better  for  Montague  Gore  if  he  had  never  exchanged  the  old  door  for  the  glass 
arrangement. 

Great  was  his  astonishment  when  one  afternoon  his  clerk  brought  in  Mrs.  Payn- 
ter’s  card,  and  intimated  that  the  lady  wished  to  see  him. 

Of  course  he  welcomed  her  cordially,  at  the  same  time  expressing  a hope  that 
nothing  unpleasant  had  procured  him  the  honor  of  this  visit. 

“Well,  I don’t  know,”  replied  Lizzie;  “we  shall  see  when  we  look  into  things. 
So  this  is  the  hole  in  which  you  make  all  your  money ; like  John’s,  it  would  be  con* 
siderably  improved  by  the  inroad  of  a housemaid  with  a lot  of  soap  and  water.” 

“ Heaven  forefend ! we  should  never  be  able  to  find  anything.” 

Mrs.  Paynter,  meanwhile,  was  quietly  noting  the  aspect  of  the  place.  Owing  to 
Gore  having  lived  there  previous  to  his  marriage,  it  contained  more  furniture  than  is 
usual  in  chambers  not  residential.  Especially  did  Mrs.  Paynter’s  eye  linger  on  the 
picture  over  the  writing-table,  of  which  we  have  before  heard.  She  wondered  who  it 
might  be,  but  she  remembered,  though  rather  indistinctly,  that  there  was  a tragedy 
connected  with  Gore’s  life,  and  forbore  to  inquire. 

“ I don’t  think  much  of  your  den,  Mr.  Gore,  and  that’s  the  truth ! ” she  exclaimed, 
after  a little ; “ but  I suppose  you  smarten  it  up  a bit  when  Cissy  comes  to  lunch  with 
you.” 

“ She  never  does,”  replied  Gore,  curtly.  “ Wives  seldom  invade  their  husband’s 
place  of  business,  I should  think.” 

“ Oh,  yes ! I do  now  and  then,  for  one.  But  I wanted  to  see  you  upon  something 
of  importance,  — important  to  me  as  to  all  your  friends ; still  more  important  to  you. 
Can  you  guess  what  it  is  ? ” 

He  shook  his  head,  and  looked  blankly  into  her  face.  She  eyed  him  keenly  for  a 
moment,  then  exclaimed,  abruptly : — 

“ What  is  wrong  between  Cissy  and  you  ? ” 

He  started.  What ! it  was  common  talk,  then,  among  their  friends  that  he  and  his 
wife  did  not  get  on  together  ? He  paused  a few  seconds,  and  then  replied : — 

“ Nothing.  What  can  you  mean  ? ” 

“ That’s  not  the  truth,  Montague,  — there  is,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  quietly. 

“ If  Cissy  has  made  you  the  confidante  of  her  grievances,”  he  rejoined,  sharply, 
“ you  know  more  than  I do.” 

It  stirred  him  to  anger  to  think  that  his  wife  should  confide  in  this  woman,  — she 
who  would  not  confide  in  him.  To  his  jealous  temper  this  was  intolerable.  Mrs. 
Paynter  was  evidently  here  as  his  wife’s  ambassadress. 

“ Montague,  don’t  mistake  me  so  cruelly.  Cissy  never  opened  her  lips  to  me  on 
the  subject ; but  to  one  who  knows  you  both  so  well  as  I do,  it  requires  little  sharp- 
sightedness to  see  there  is  something  amiss.” 

“ I suppose,”  he  returned,  roughly,  “ there’s  a seamy  side  to  most  married  life. 
It  was  not  likely  I should  be  more  fortunate  than  my  neighbors.  I dare  say  you  and 


172 


Two  Kisses. 


John  Paynter  have  found  the  springs  of  the  domestic  chariot  get  a little  out  of  order 
upon  occasion.” 

“ John  and  I understand  one  another,”  replied  Lizzie. 

“ I should  like  to  hear  what  he  says  about  it ! ” exclaimed  Gore,  rudely. 

“ He’s  more  courteous  to  a lady  than  you,  at  all  events ! ” cried  Mrs,  Paynter, 
springing  to  her  feet.  “ I came  to  help  you  if  I could.  You  meet  me  with  distrust, 
and  are  downright  bearish  besides.  I will  go.” 

She  looked  very  handsome  in  her  wrath,  as  she  stood  there,  her  head  thrown 
slightly  back,  and  her  blue  eyes  sparkling  with  indignation.  She  was  very  angry 
with  this  man.  He  had  refused  to  flirt  with  her  in  days  gone  by,  and  a woman  never 
forgets  that ; now  he  wns  refusing  the  loyal  friendship  and  help  that  she  proffered* 
She  turned,  and  walked  swiftly  to  the  door ; but  ere  she  reached  it  he  overtook  her, 
caught  her  hand,  and  exclaimed : — 

“ Forgive  me,  Lizzie ! We  cannot  part  like  this.  Pardon  a man  who  has  good 
reason  to  feel  somewhat  embittered.  Come  back  and  sit  down.” 

He  had  never  called  her  by  her  Christian  name  before.  In  his  excitement  he  was 
scarce  conscious  that  he  had  done  so  now.  It  was  odd,  but  that  slight  incident  roused 
the  ever-ready  spirit  of  coquetry  within  Lizzie’s  breast.  She  turned  round  upon  him, 
and,  as  the  anger  died  out  of  her  face,  said,  softly : — 

“ I thought,  Montie,  you  could  never  really  mean  to  treat  an  old  ally  like  that.” 

He  was  somewhat  taken  aback  by  this  abrupt  transition  from  indignation  to  tender- 
ness. Still  he  was  as  yet  too  much  intent  upon  learning  what  she  might  have  to  say 
to  pay  much  attention  to  it. 

If  Montague  Gore  was  anxious  to  hear  Mrs.  Paynter’s  revelation,  there  was  one 
just  arrived  at  the  other  side  of  that  glazed  door  who  stood  petrified  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice. 

Cissy  had  been  about  to  knock  at  it  when  Mrs.  Paynter’s  angry  tones  fell  upon  her 
ears.  She  could  not  catch  the  words  in  the  least ; but  she  felt  sure  it  was  a woman’s 
voice.  She  thought  she  recognized  it.  Cissy  paused. 

By  one  of  those  caprices  which  we  of  the  West  call  chance,  and  the  Easterns  fate, 
a business  telegram  had  arrived  for  Montague  Gore  just  as  Cissy  was  stepping  into  her 
brougham.  She  determined  to  take  it  to  him  herself.  On  arriving  at  the  outer  door 
of  her  husband’s  chambers  she  found  it  ajar.  No  response  being  made  to  her  knock 
she  pushed  it  gently  open.  The  room  was  empty,  the  clerk  having  slipped  out  on 
some  temporary  business  of  his  own  or  his  master’s.  Similarly  she  made  her  way 
into  the  next  room,  and  was  about  to  tap  at  the  glass  door  when  her  hand  wag 
arrested,  as  above-described. 

“ You  are  making  three  great  mistakes,  Montie,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter,  smiling,  as  she 
resumed  her  seat.  “First,  you  won’t  believe  in  my  friendship,  and  you  ought,  you 
know.  Secondly,  you  should  always  believe  in  a woman’s  help,  if  ever  you  get  into 
r scrape  with  another  woman.  Men  don’t,  I know;  they  always  will  consult  one 


A Kiss  with  a Sting  in  It. 


173 


Another ; and  what  a mess  they  do  make  of  it,  as  a rule ! ” and  here  Mr  §.  Paynter  gay© 
a most  expressive  shrug  of  her  pretty  shoulders. 

“ But  I have  repented  of  those  two  heresies,”  said  Gore,  earnestly ; “ I accept  your 
friendship,  and  will  listen  to  your  advice.  Still,  I am  utterly  ignorant  of  what  it  is 
you  would  talk  to  me  about.” 

“ And  they  call  us  hypocrites,”  observed  Mrs.  Paynter,  parenthetically.  “ You 
know  very  well.  Will  you  answer  my  question  ? What  is  wrong  between  you  and 
Cissy  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  — nothing  — something  — eveiything.  God  help  me!  I acroi 
understand  her.” 

“You  should  have  let  some  of  us  teach  you  the  windings  of  a woman’s  mind 
earlier,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  archly,  and  favoring  her  companion  with  a most 
coquettish  flash  of  her  blue  eyes.  Though  honestly  working  in  Cissy’s  behalf,  she 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  flirting  a little  bit  on  her  own.  “ And  now  I am 
going  to  tell  you  your  third  mistake,  — you  don’t  believe  in  your  wife.” 

“ I do ! ” cried  Gore,  vehemently. 

“No,  you  don’t.  You’re  jealous  of  her,”  replied  Lizzie,  demurely. 

“ Jealous  of  whom,  pray  ? ” 

“ How  should  I know  ? Jealous  without  cause,  I can  swear.  Your  wife  loves  you 
very  dearly.” 

“You  think  so  ? ” inquired  Gore,  looking  straight  into  his  companion’s  eyes. 

“ I’m  sure  of  it ; better  than  she  loves  any  one  in  the  world.” 

Montague  Gore  paused,  and  remained  for  some  few  seconds  lost  in  thought. 

What  was  Cissy  doing  all  this  time  on  the  other  side  of  that  glazed  door  ? Her  con- 
duct, perhaps,  is  hardly  to  be  defended ; but  bear  in  mind  her  husband’s  change  of 
manner  had  troubled  her  much  of  late.  Who  was  this  lady,  she  wondered,  with  whom 
he  was  closeted,  the  faint  rones  of  whose  voice,  when  raised,  had  seemed  familiar  to 
her  ear  ? Suddenly  she  espied  a place  a little  above  her  head  from  which  the  glaze 
had  been  a little  worn  off.  She  seized  a chair,  and  in  another  second  she  was  looking 
the  room,  and  had  recognized  Lizzie  Paynter. 

“ You  honestly  believe  this  ? ” said  Gore,  rising,  at  length.  “ I doubt  it.” 

“You’re  mad,  Montague ; I swear  it.  Women  don’t  often  make  a mistake  about 
such  things ; ” and  as  she  spoke  she  rose  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

“Bless  you  for  the  assurance,  anyway,  even  if  it  should  turn  out  you  are  mistaken. 
How  can  I ever  repay  your  kindness  ? ” he  continued,  taking  her  hands  in  his. 

Not  a gesture  of  all  this  was  lost  upon  Cissy.  She  could  not  hear  what  they  said, 
but  she  had  an  excellent  view  of  the  speakers. 

The  very  devilry  of  coquetry  possessed  Lizzie  at  that  instant. 

“Pay  me,”  she  cried,  laughing.  “ Yes,  that  is  new.  You  lawyers  always  exact  a 
fee ; I shall  take  one,”  and  as  she  spoke  she  leant  forward  towards  him,  and  her  eyes 
looking  up  into  his  said  plainly  what  that  fee  should  be. 

Moptague  Gore  bent  his  head  and  laid  his  lips  lightly  on  her  cheek,  and  a thrill  ©t 


174 


Two  Kisses. 


gratified  vanity  ran  through  Lizzie’s  veins.  It  was  a poor  and  unfairly  won  triumph, 
but  she  had  made  this  man  succumb  to  her  at  last  in  some  sort. 

Cissy  saw  it  all.  She  sprang  from  her  chair,  apd  sped  with  light  foot  and  aching 
heart  to  her  carriage.  She  knew  now  ^pat  it  was  to  love.  She  knew  at  last  that  she 
loved  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  XXX  fl. 


CISSY  LEAVES  HER  HUSBAND. 


Mb.  Fox  Brine  has  returned  from  Nottingham,  somewhat  discomforted.  He  has 
vindicated  his  bold  assertion  that  he  would  find  Hemsworths.  He  has  — more  than  a 
dozen  of  them ; but  he  is  quite  aware  that  he  has  not  found  the  Hemsworth  that  is 
wanted.  Also  does  Mr.  Brine  labor  under  the  unpleasant  consciousness  of  having 


been,  in  some  measure,  outwitted.  He  reflects^ 
denizens  of  the  Midlands  are  endowed  with  vast  \ 
generally,  and  gin-punch  in  particular.  He  resolv^ 
again  on  that  point,  with  Mr.  Turbottle,  at  all  even 
could  have  afforded  him  all  the  information  he  sdfj 
his  exceeding  acuteness  he  thought  to  take  Mr. 
have  seen  what  has  come  of  it.  Now  he  has,  foi^j 
worthy.  He  has  vanished  after  his  wont,  leaving 
at  all  a habit  of  Mr.  Turbottle’s. 

“ You  see  it  all  depends  upon  your  circumstan 
remark,  with  a grin,  whenever  this  little  peculiari| 
expectin’  haunches  of  wenison,  tickets  for  the  cours 
can’t  be  too  particklar  about  letting  ’em  know  wh 
folks  only  want  to  point  out  half-crown  brooch^ 
posed  ’em  to  be,  and  that  genuine  mother-of-j 
mother  than  pearl  in  ’em,  why,  you  see,  it’s  as  ] 


uefully,  that  those  hard-headed 
icity  as  regards  liquor-drinking 
lentally  not  to  measure  himself 
That  the  peripatetic  merchant 
it,  he  entertains  no  doubt.  In 
)ottle  at  disadvantage,  and  we 
present,  lost  all  clue  to  that 
iddress  behind  him,  not  being 


that  gentleman  was  wont  to 
,s  alluded  to.  “ When  you’re 
s,  and  no  end  of  legacies,  you 
ou  are.  But  when  it’s  likely 
it  the  standard  gold  they  sup- 
triiles  have  a good  deal  more 
'arties  shouldn’t  communicate, 
a-bear.” 


It  leads  to  unpleasantness,  which  is  what  I nevcrj^ 

When  Mr.  Brine  goes  down  to  Gore’s  chamber  to  give  an  account  of  his  steward- 
ship, he  is  afflicted  with  considerable  misgivings  concerning  his  reception.  lie  is  not 
the  least  afraid  of  bitter  commentary  on  his  proceedings ; but  he  does  think  that  he 
has  laid  himself  open  to  a good  deal  of  badinage.  He  reflects  that  he  did  crow  rather 
loud  that  evening  in  York  Terrace,  and  he  has  not  much  to  show  in  confirmation  of 
such  bragging.  But  he  need  fear  little  raillery  from  Montague  Gore  at  present. 

Gore  can  discover  no  sign  of  Mrs.  Paynter  being  justified  in  her  assertion.  On  the 
contrary,  Cissy  behaves  towards  him  with  a measured  coldness,  little  calculated  to 
convey  the  idea  of  deep  affection.  Believing  in  the  first  instance  that  Lizzie  might 
be  right,  he  had  made  one  determined  effort  to  break  down  the  barrier  that  had 
grown  up  between  them ; but  Cissy  became  more  freezing  in  her  manner  than  ever. 


175 


Cissy  Leaves  Her  Husband. 

He  was  dealing  with  a proud  woman,  fiercely  jealous,  — a woman  who  had  suddenly 
awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  loved  for  the  first  time ; while,  simultaneously,  she  was 
given  proof  that  the  man  she  loved  was  carrying  on  an  intrigue  with  her  most  inti- 
mate friend.  That  he  was  her  husband,  and  that  as  such  she  had  a claim  on  his 
affections,  operated  but  slightly  on  Cissy’s  mind. 

Her  first  marriage  had  not  taught  her  to  put  much  faith  in  that  obligation.  But  she 
had  learned  to  hold  Montague  in  high  estimation ; and  now  it  seemed  that  it  e had 
been  his  dupe  from  the  commencement ; that  his  protestations  of  love  were  an  false ; 
that  his  heart,  all  the  while,  had  been  given  to  another.  It  seemed  to  Cissy  that  she 
had  been  the  victim  of  an  abominable  plot. 

Blinded  by  her  jealousy  she  conceived  the  hideous  idea  that  her  marriage  with 
Gore  had  been  a concerted  affair  between  him  and  Mrs.  Paynter,  for  the  better  con- 
cealment of  the  intrigue  he  was  carrying  on  with  that  lady.  It  is  true  that  this  was 
jumping  at  a conclusion  upon  rather  insufficient  grounds,  but  women  seldom  form 
their  opinions  logically.  Indeed,  when  jealousy  begins  to  reason,  self  does  not  make 
much  difference ; we  always  hold  a brief  for  the  prosecution  in  such  cases,  and  admit 
no  evidence  save  that  which  tends  to  a conviction. 

It  was  little  likely  Cissy  would  soften  towards  her  husband  in  her  present  frame  of 
mind.  She  was  torn  by  conflicting  emotions.  If  she  was  to  be  a mere  nonenity,  a 
simple  cloak  to  his  illicit  love  for  another,  why  had  he  so  strenuously  sought  her  love 
since  she  had  become  his  wife  ? Cissy  had  not  deceived  herself  upon  this  point ; her 
husband  had  been  her  lover  up  to  this  time.  If  he  had  married  her  as  a mere  mask  to 
his  intrigue  with  Lizzie  Paynter,  then  their  wedding-day  saw  that  end  accomplished, 
and  further  wooing  was  only  likely  to  embroil  him  with  his  mistress. 

She  herself,  too,  in  admitting  her  want  of  love  for  him,  gave  him  fair  grounds  for 
omitting  the  attentions  of  a lover ; and  yet  Cissy  knew  well  she  had  no  ground  for 
complaint  on  that  score.  Could  it  be  that  this  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Paynter  was  but  an 
old  liaison , which  he  wanted  courage  to  break  up  ? Ho,  that  was  not  the  case,  else 
Mrs.  Paynter  had  probably  interfered  to  prevent  her  marriage ; and  she  well  knew 
that  Lizzie  had  done  her  best  to  promote  that.  No,  her  first  conjecture  was  the  true 
solution.  This  man  whom  she  had  so  looked  to  and  esteemed  was  falser,  meaner, 
baser,  than  those  with  whom  her  early  life  had  been  spent. 

And  yet  she  loved  him.  She  could  not  disguise  that  from  herself.  Though  she 
inwardly  raged,  though  she  despised  herself  for  the  miserable  weakness,  though  she 
believed  that  he  had  deceived  her,  that  he  had  whispered  love  words  into  her  ear  false 
as  dicers’  oaths,  that  he  and  his  paramour  perhaps  even  laughed  at  her  miserable 
infatuation,  still  she  could  not  tear  him  from  her  heart.  Can  a proud  woman  suffer 
greater  torture  than  to  feel  that  she  has  poured  out  the  precious  spikenard  of  her  love 
on  one  wTlio  but  mocks  at  the  gift  ? Cissy  is  beginning  to  think  she  can  live  no  longer 
beneath  this  man’s  roof. 

Montague  Gore,  meanwhile,  is  slowly  resigning  himself  to  the  inevitable.  Hia 

13 


176 


Two  Kisses. 


dream  of  happiness  is  over.  To  the  first  bitter  regret  of  conceiving  this  woman’s 
love  can  never  be  his  is  now  added  a fierce  feeling  of  resentment  at  her  injustice. 

She  has,  he  tells  himself,  thought  proper  to  quarrel  with  him  for  expressing  disap- 
proval of  her  conduct,  on  a point  in  which  he  would  have  been  borne  out  by  most 
men.  No  husband  would  acquiesce  in  his  wife  holding  clandestine  meetings  with  a 
man  of  whom  he  knew  nothing.  He  attributes  Cissy’s  behavior  entirely  to  their 
conversation  of  a few  weeks  back. 

He  has,  of  course,  no  idea  that  she  witnessed  the  conclusion  of  that  interview  with 
Mrs.  Paynter,  or  even  he  must  have  admitted  that  she  had  some  reasons  for  her 
jealousy.  But  he  is  in  ignorance  of  all  this.  His  wife’s  feelings  are  a sealed  book  to 
him.  He  has  no  suspicion  of  the  counts  upon  which  Cissy  mentally  arraigns  him. 
He  would  be  thunderstruck  at  hearing  all  she  has  to  allege  against  him.  So  the 
breach  between  them  widens  rapidly,  and  has  by  this  attained  such  dimensions  that  it 
may  well  be  doubted  whether  it  will  ever  be  bridged  again. 

Fox  Brine,  on  repairing  to  his  friend’s  chambers  to  render  an  account  of  his  mission, 
is  struck  with  the  change  in  Montague’s  appearance.  He  may  well  look  ill.  To  stifle 
the  thoughts  that  rage  within  him  he  has  had  recourse  to  his  old  panacea,  — hard  work ; 
and  he  has  carried  it  to  that  point  where  Nature  begins  to  resent  the  unfair  strain 
placed  upon  her.  He  is  conscious  himself  that  he  is  rather  overdoing  it.  That 
extreme  lassitude,  those  constant  headaches,  — he  has  experienced  them  before,  and  he 
knows  what  his  doctor  said  then : “ Off  with  you  to  the  seaside  at  once ; don’t  touch 
a pen,  nor  do  more  than  glance  at  a newspaper.  Do  nothing  for  two  months;  the 
brain  wants  to  lie  fallow  a while.” 

He  listens  attentively,  though,  to  Brine’s  account  of  his  proceedings,  but  by  no 
means  thinks  it  conclusive  that  Mr.  Turbottle  is  in  a position  to  give  them  the 
information  they  require. 

“ The  man,  you  see,  Fox,  is  such  a charlatan  by  profession  that  he  was  quite  likely 
to  affect  knowledge  he  did  not  possess,  when  he  saw  you  anxious  for  information  on 
the  point.” 

“ He  knows  all  about  it,”  returned  Brine,  doggedly. 

“ Well,  he  apparently  won’t  tell  it  drunk,  whatever  he  may  do  sober.” 

“None  of  your  chaff,  Montie.  It  is  not  given  to  mankind,  generally,  to  put  away 
punch  after  the  fashion  of  Mr.  Turbottle.  Confound  him ! he  seemed  only  to  .get 
more  sober  with  every  glass  he  took.” 

“ And  you  didn’t,  eh  ? ” 

“No,  you’re  quite  right,  I did  not.  But  I tell  you  what,  old  fellow,  you’re  not 
looking  yourself ; overdoing  it  again  with  respect  to  work.  Why  don’t  you  knock  off 
and  go  away  somewhere  for  a little  ? Doesn’t  Mrs.  Gore  think  you  want  change  of 
some  sort  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I’m  all  right ; a little  fagged,  that’s  all.  I’ve  had  a great  deal  to  do  lately,” 
replied  Montague,  wearily.  “ I wrant  more  money,  too,  now  I’m  married.” 

“Well,  you  know  your  own  business  best ; but  remember  what  tfoe  doctors  told  to© 


Cissy  Leaves  Her  Husband. 


177 


before.  It’s  false  economy,  besides.  Driving  the  engine  too  hard  always  involves 
damage  to  the  machinery;  and  then  you  hare  to  lie  by  for  repairs.  In  the  mean 
time  I intend  to  devote  all  my  energies  to  the  recovery  of  the  lost  Turbottle.  When 
I find  him  I shall  be  able  to  clear  up  that  settlement  question  for  you,”  observed 
Brine,  rising. 

“ I doubt  it ; but  still  we  are  dead-beat  about  the  Hemsworths,  and  I can’t,  just  at 
present,  think  of  anything  else.  Good-by.” 

Mr.  Brine  pondered  a good  deal  over  his  friend’s  looks  as  he  walked  homewards, 

“ That  wife  of  his  is  answerable  for  them  in  some  measure,  I’ll  be  bound,”  he  mut- 
tered. “ I fathomed  that  woman  the  first  time  I saw  her.  Very  handsome,  very 
false,  was  my  verdict,  and  she  is  — I wonder  what  I ought  to  do,  knowing  what  I 
know.  * When  in  doubt  about  speaking,  hold  your  tongue,’  is  a good,  safe  maxim, 
and  I’ll  stick  to  it  for  the  present ; and  yet  it  seems  like  disloyalty  to  my  oldest  friend, 
for  the  sake  of  shielding  a worthless  woman.  Pah ! how  could  she  let  that  scoundrel’s 
lips  soil  her  cheek,  if  she  had  a shred  of  respect  for  herself  left  ? It’s  a bad  business, 
very ; and  I devoutly  wish  I was  in  happy  ignorance  of  the  whole  affair.  What  a fool 
I was  to  miss  that  train ! ” 

Little  did  Cissy,  brooding  over  her  own  imagined  wrrongs,  think  what  judgment 
was  being  passed  upon  her.  Little  did  she  dream  that  she  was  pronounced  as  false  to 
her  husband  as  she  conceived  him  to  be  to  her,  and  upon  almost  identical  evidence. 
She  would  have  been  perfectly  aghast  if  she  had  known  that  Fox  Brine  had  witnessed 
her  parting  with  her  father,  and  drawn  deductions  of  her  conduct  similar  to  those  she 
herself  had  come  to  concerning  her  husband,  from  witnessing  the  conclusion  of  his 
interview  with  Mrs.  Paynter.  As  before  said,  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  the  major 
might  be  deemed  her  lover  to  those  having  no  knowledge  of  their  relationship.  The 
idea  was  so  preposterous  that  she  might  well  be  excused  for  never  thinking  of  it ; and 
yet  it  was  no  unwarrantable  conclusion  for  Brine  to  arrive  at,  or  for  her  husband  to 
have  grave  suspicion  about. 

During  the  next  few  days  Cissy  suffered  severely.  She  raged  inwardly.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  all  was  false ; that  all  around  her  were  in  league  to  deceive ; that  she  was 
the  mere  puppet  of  a designing  intriguante,  the  dupe  of  a heartless  man.  And  yet 
how  she  did  love  this  man ! She  had  awakened  to  this  knowledge  too  late ; no,  too 
soon,  — she  ought  never  to  have  done  so.  Had  she  not  loved  him  it  had  been  easier  to 
bear.  Lies,  lies,  lies,  she  was  surrounded  by  lies. 

In  vain  did  Mrs.  Paynter  call ; Cissy  obstinately  refused  to  see  her.  That  lady  was 
mystified  past  conception.  If  she  had  indulged  in  her  habitual  coquetry  for  a moment, 
of  a surety  she  did  not  flatter  herself  that  she  had  made  any  impression  upon  Mon- 
tague Gore’s  heart,  nor  did  she  desire  to  do  so.  She  honestly  wanted  to  set  things 
straight  between  husband  and  wife ; and  the  incorrigible  flirt  little  knew  what  had 
come  of  her  endeavors.  She  wrote  to  Cissy ; her  letters  remained  unanswered. 

It  was  time  Cissy’s  first  impulse  had  been  to  reply  in  exceeding  bitter  terms,  and 
let  her  see  that  she  knew  all.  Then  she  thought  of  an  interview,  in  which  she  might 


178 


Two  Kisses. 


pour  forth  all  her  scorn  and  indignation  on  her  rival’s  head.  But  ever  came  back  the 
dread  reflection,  she  can  laugh  in  my  face,  she  is  a successful  rival.  Then  rose  the 
fierce  thought  of  revenge ; of  telling  John  Paynter  all  she  knew,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  imagined  she  knew.  But  Cissy  reflected  that  would  probably  only  result 
in  throwing  her  rival  into  her  husband’s  arms.  An  elopement,  she  conceived,  the 
probable  result  of  such  exposure. 

What  was  she  to  do  ? To  live  in  the  midst  of  all  this  deception  was  intolerable. 
She  could  never  bear  again  to  see  her  husband  even  talking  with  Mrs.  Paynter;  and, 
intimate  as  they  were,  it  would  be  impossible,  she  thought,  to  postpone  that  for  long. 
How  idiotically  blind  John  Paynter  must  be  not  to  see  all  this ! And  yet  he  could 
come  out  with  his  blundering  remarks  about  her  proceedings.  Great  Heaven ! why 
did  he  not  pay  some  slight  attention  to  his  wife’s  ? 

Should  she  consult  her  father  ? No,  this  was  a thing  she  must  think  out  for  herself. 
He  had  told  her  she  was  independent ; that  she  had  money  of  her  own.  Thank  God ! 
she  could  go  and  owe  nothing  to  her  husband.  “ Yes,”  she  thought,  “ it  must  be  so.  I 
will  leave  him.  I shall  be  better  away ; anything  is  better  than  to  live  such  a life  as 
we  do  now.  I did  it  before ; but  then  I did  not  love.  Now,  alas ! I do ; ” and  Cissy 
wound  up  with  a passionate  fit  of  tears. 

Once  this  idea  has  entered  her  head,  and  Cissy  begins  to  turn  it  over  pretty  con- 
stantly, she  becomes  impatient  for  action.  Yes,  she  will  go,  and  she  thinks  -without 
explanation.  She  is  quite  aware  that  her  husband  has  the  power  to  prevent  her  leav- 
ing, unless  she  could  produce  rather  more  evidence  against  him  than  she  can  lay  her 
hands  on  at  present.  She  has  no  doubt  of  his  guilt,  but  still  she  feels  that  her  story 
might  not  be  so  convincing  to  others  as  it  is  to  herself.  She  can  imagine  specious 
explanations  given  by  a couple  so  well  versed  in  duplicity  as  those  two.  She  has  an 
impression,  somewhat  vague,  it  is  true,  but  nevertheless  rather  strong,  that  her  father, 
if  she  consulted  him,  would  counsel  her  to  pause.  That  would  be  intolerable ; she  feels 
that  it  would  cover  her  with  shame  now  to  admit  how  passionately  she  loved  her  husband. 

No,  she  will  go  without  saying  a word  to  any  one,  and  leave  a letter  behind  her  for 
Montague,  stating  her  discovery  of  his  perfidy,  and  her  determination  to  live  with 
him  no  longer.  Where  shall  she  go  ? Brompton-super-Mare  will  do  as  well  as  any 
place.  She  will  write  to  her  father  when  she  gets  there. 

Montague  Gore,  returning  home  weaiy  from  his  work  a day  or  two  later,  is 
astounded,  instead  of  finding  his  wife,  to  find  this  letter : — 

“ That  I can  no  longer  consent  to  live  beneath  your  roof  will  surprise  you  little, 
when  I tell  you  I know  all ; that  I know  what  a mockery  your  pretence  of  love  has 
been  from  the  very  commencement ; that  I am  aware  now  that  our  marriage  was 
intended  but  to  cloak  your  liaison  with  another.  I would  have  been  a true  wife  to 
you,  Montague,  if  you  would  have  trusted  me.  It  seems  that  I have  been  your  dupe 
*11  along.  The  love  you  professed  for  me  you  had  not  to  give ; your  heart  was 


Cissy  Leaves  Her  Husband . 17$ 

alrea  ly  another’s.  I deserved  better  at  your  hands  than  this.  My  secret  was,  at  all 
events,  an  innocent  one,  and  capable  of  explanation. 

" For  you ! I have  witnessed  your  treason  with  my  own  eyes.  To  explain  away 
what  I have  seen  is  impossible.  There  remains  for  us  only  separation.  A woman 
must  be  indeed  lost  to  self-respect  who  would  consent  to  play  the  role  you  have 
marked  out  for  me.  You  need  fear  no  disclosures  at  my  hands,  unless  you  drive  me 
to  them.  I ask  but  that  we  should  part  silently  and  forever. 

“ Your  wife  that  was, 

' “ Cissy  Gore.” 

Montague  Gore  read  this  letter  over  some  three  times ; he  was  white  even  to  his 
lips  as  he  did  so.  At  length  he  thrust  the  paper  into  his  breast,  and  if  there  had 
been  a physiognomist  present  his  verdict  would  have  been  that  this  man  was  dan- 
gerous. When  men  turn  white  with  passion,  it  is  usually  in  consequence  of  the 
violent  repression  of  emotion.  The  anger  that  can  be  pent  up  is  of  the  kind  that 
resembles  the  mountain  torrent,  in  contradistinction  to  the  brawling  brook.  When  it 
bursts  its  banks,  it  is  hard  to  face  or  to  stem. 

“ I understand  what  you  have  written  ? ” he  muttered.  “ Not  in  the  least,  save  this : 
you  have  what  you  term  an  innocent  secret  capable  of  explanation ; and  explain  it  you 
shall,  by  Heaven!  and  so  shall  your  co-partner  also.  If  his  story  be  what  I suppose 
it,  you  will  part  silently  and  forever  with  one  of  us.” 

It  was  well  Cissy  could  not  see  her  husband’s  face,  as  he  read  that  letter  of  hers. 
Few  who  knew  Montague  Gore  could  have  guessed  what  fierce  passions  ran  beneath 
his  habitual  calm,  self-contained  manner.  It  was  excessive  love  impelled  Othello 
to  slay  Desdemona.  Such  paroxysm  of  jealousy  is  impossible  save  to  those  who 
greatly  love. 

Gore  at  this  moment  was  in  the  state  in  which  men  are  capable  of  great  crimes,  — 
when  they  deal  out  what  they  deem  justice,  and  the  world  calls  murder  in  somewhat 
reckless  fashion.  Quite  possible,  had  he  met  Cissy  and  her  father  at  this  present, 
they  had  died  before  he  thought  of  demanding  that  explanation  he  spcke  of.  Pro- 
fessional training  stands  in  small  stead  when  passion  has  mastered  us,  and  we  pass 
sentence  on  our  own  convictions  without  troubling  ourselves  concerning  evidence  or 
investigation.  That  his  wife  had  eloped  with  the  mysterious  stranger  Gore  never 
doubted.  The  charge  against  himself  he  was  so  utterly  at  a loss  to  interpret  that  he 
pui  it  down  as  one  of  those  vague  accusations  we  make  at  times  to  justify  our  own 
wrong-doing. 


180 


Two  Kisses. 


CHAPTER  XXXHI. 

THE  MAJOR’S  ADVICE. 

Charlie  Detfield  is  experiencing  those  pleasing  sensations  which  probably 
accrue  to  a man  who  finds  himself  speeding  down  stream  to  Niagara  Falls,  — no 
possibility  of  reaching  either  bank,  — nothing  to  do  but  sit  still,  watch  his  boat 
increasing  its  pace  every  hundred  yards,  and  listen  to  the  awful  roar  of  the  cataract 
destined  to  engulf  him.  The  fate  of  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  has  its 
parallel  in  those  who  float  down  life’s  river  on  “bills.”  There  are  direful  shipwrecks 
in  both  cases.  Detfield’s  bark  is  getting  ominously  nigh  the  breakers.  He  bids  fair 
to  shoot  his  Niagara  before  many  days  are  gone  by. 

The  somewhat  impersonal  Simmonds,  controller  of  Charlie’s  most  serious  liabilities, 
is  beginning  to  wax  vehement  for  a settlement.  To  see  that  money-lending  shade 
has  apparently  become  an  impossibility,  but  he  is  very  active  by  post ; threatening  all 
kinds  of  proceedings  unless  his  urgent  thirst  for  ready-money  is  immediately 
assuaged.  Again  and  again  has  Charlie  sought  the  money-lender’s  den,  with  a faint 
hope  of  inducing  Shylock  to  grant  a little  respite.  Shylock  is  always  away  in  the 
city,  say  his  clerks,  striving  to  raise  a little  money  on  his  own  account,  for  such  a 
dearth  of  the  precious  metal  had  not  been  experienced  for  many  years.  Mr.  Sim- 
monds is  terribly  in  want  of  funds,  say  his  well-instructed  subordinates ; engaged  in 
one  or  two  financial  schemes  that  require  perpetual  feeding. 

Although  Simmonds  may  be  impalpable,  his  lawyers  are  not,  and  it  has  become  quite 
evident  to  Detfield  that  his  liberty  is  of  doubtful  tenure.  We  all  know  that  imprison- 
ment for  debt  is  abolished ; but  then  you  see  you  can  be  ordered  to  pay,  and  com- 
mitted for  contempt  of  court  if  you  do  not.  As  the  probability,  in  such  cases,  is  that 
a man  does  not  pay  because  he  has  not  the  money  to  do  so,  he  goes  to  prison  for 
contempt  of  court  instead  of  for  debt ; a distinction  which  one  trusts  is,  in  some 
shape,  soothing  to  his  feelings,  although  there  seems  a marvellous  similarity  between 
the  new  law  and  the  old. 

It  has  never  occurred  to  Detfield  that  his  quarrel  with  Roxby  can  have  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  harshness  of  Mr.  Simmonds’  proceedings.  Although  he  had 
fairly  ’wooed  and  won  Bessie  for  herself,  without  an  idea  of  her  being  an  heiress,  yet, 
if  he  could  have  met  the  ruthless  money-lender,  he  would  probably  have  pleaded  that, 
as  some  inducement  for  him  to  stay  his  hand.  But  Mr.  Simmonds  had  his  own  game 
to  play,  and  had  no  intention  of  having  an  interview  with  his  debtor.  Suddenly  it 
struck  Charlie  that  it  would  be  a wise  thing  to  go  and  have  a talk  with  Claxby 
Jenkens. 

“ Can’t  possibly  make  things  worse.  I don’t  see  how  I could  do  that  if  I tried. 

I ve  been  a fool,  and  suppose  I must  pay  for  it ; but  it  is  a little  rough  on  a fellow  that 


The  Major's  Advice. 


181 


his  smash  should  come  just  as  he  has  persuaded  the  sweetest  girl  in  England  to  be  his 
wife ; and  to  think  that  she  has  money,  after  all.  That  old  scoundrel  Roxby  was  right 
the  other  evening.  I can’t  afford  to  wait.  If  I could,  I might  marry  Bessie,  and 
stick  to  the  old  corps  besides,  perhaps ; but  Simmonds  means  to  have  his  own  forth- 
with, as  far  as  he  can  get  it;  that  means  selling  out,  as  far  as  I am  concerned.,, 

Detfield  was  not  particularly  sanguine  that  any  good  could  come  of  this  interview ; 
but  we  all  know  what  preposterous  chances  we  play  for  when  the  world  is  going 
against  us.  A chance  this,  quite  of  the  Micawber  type ; a trust  that  something  might 
turn  up. 

As  he  ascended  the  dingy  stairs  leading  to  the  major’s  office,  in  John  street, 
Adelphi,  Charlie  reflected  moodily  that  Claxby  Jenkens  had  always  disclaimed  any 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  money-lending  fraternity.  That  he  usually  prefaced  his 
discourse  with,  “ Don’t  borrow,”  and  concluded  with,  “ Well,  if  you  will,  or  must,  so 
and  so  (in  his  case,  Simmonds)  will  let  you  off  as  cheap  as  any  one ; but  he’ll  make 
you  pay  pretty  high  all  the  same.”  To  the  latter  part  of  his  speech  being  strictly 
veracious,  Charlie  could  bear  testimony. 

The  major  received  Detfield  with  his  accustomed  urbanity,  and  waited  quietly  till 
he  should  please  to  open  the  business  upon  which  he  came.  To  tell  the  truth,  Claxby 
Jenkens  was  a good  deal  puzzled  what  this  visit  might  portend. 

“ He  can’t  be  such  a fool  as  to  suppose  he  can  raise  more  money,”  thought  the 
major.  “ If  he  has  been  successful  in  his  wooing,  Roxby  will,  of  course,  pull  him 
through.  If  he  hasn’t,  he  must  know  it’s  all  up.” 

The  major,  therefore,  contemplated  Charlie,  through  his  spectacles,  with  no  little 
curiosity. 

“ I want  to  have  a talk  with  you,  major,”  said  Charlie,  endeavoring  to  settle  him- 
self comfortably  in  the  straight-backed  office-chair. 

The  major’s  chairs  were  not  designed  with  a view  to  comfort. 

“ Comfort  produces  confidence,”  quoth  that  astute  practitioner.  “ Confidence  is 
rather  inimical  to  the  favorable  transaction  of  such  business  as  mine.” 

“ I am  very  much  at  your  service  for  fifteen  minutes,”  replied  Claxby  Jenkens. 
“ After  that,  you’ll  excuse  me ; ” and  he  laid  his  watch  upon  his  desk,  as  a significant 
hint  to  his  visitor  to  say  what  he  had  to  say  at  once.  “ What  is  it  ? ” 

“ First,  I want  Simmonds,  who  is  now  pressing  me  very  hard,  to  give  me  a little 
more  time.” 

“ My  dear  Detfield,  I have  told  you  from  the  commencement  I have  no  control,  in 
any  way,  over  Simmonds,  in  his  business  transactions.  I can  only  say,  from  what  I 
know  of  him,  if  he  wants  his  money,  you  will  have  to  furnish  him  with  a very  good 
reason  for  consenting  to  wait  a little  longer.  He  don’t,  as  a rule,  without  seeing 
some  benefit  in  prospective.  You’ve  had  a chance.  Why  the  deuce  didn’t  you  take 
it?” 

“The  chance  meaning,  I presume,  that  I should  win  the  hand  of  Miss  Bessie 

Stanbury  ? ” 


182 


Two  Kisses. 


“ Just  so,”  replied  the  major,  shortly,  and  gazing  inquisitively  at  his  companion 
from  beneath  his  spectacles. 

“ Well,  I have.  I am  engaged  to  many  Bessie  Stanbury.” 

“ Then  what  on  earth  do  you  come  to  me  for  ? — I who  can  be  of  no  use  to  you, 
when  Roxby,  her  guardian,  can  put  things  straight  with  Simmonds  in  ten  minutes.” 
“ Itoxby  and  I have  quarrelled.  Roxby  is  an  unmitigated  blackguard.” 

The  major  could  not  refrain  from  an  ejaculation.  This  was  so  exactly  what  he 
thought  might  take  place  that  he  could  not  resist  a triumphant  exclamation.  Never- 
theless, he  considered  it  behoved  him  to  know  how  this  quarrel  had  come  about. 
Moreover,  it  was  considerably  to  his  pecuniary  interests  to  bridge  it  over,  if  possible ; 
and  yet,  for  a downright  pull  over  Roxby,  the  major  felt  he  would  sacrifice  a good 
deal. 

“ Hard  words,  libellous  words,  my  dear  Detfield,”  he  replied,  softly,  — “ words  that 
require  justification  of  some  sort.  Roxby,  remember,  has  the  credit  of  an  upright 
man  of  business.” 

“ No  doubt.  I fancy  you’ve  a good  many  in  the  city  of  the  same  kind,”  replied  the 
guardsman,  dryly.  “Held  fine  men  of  business,  because  they  make  money,  but 
viewed  in  a somewhat  different  light  by  the  public,  if  it  ever  happens  to  transpire  how 
they  do  it.  Roxby  is  one  of  these.  He  proposes  to  sell  me  his  ward.” 

It  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  this  astonished  the  major.  Without  positive  knowl- 
edge,  yet  he  had  never  doubted  that  Roxby  meant  to  make  capital  of  Bessie  Stanbury’s 
hand  in  this  fashion. 

“ Might  I inquire  the  exact  terms  in  which  the  proposal  was  couched  ? ” asked  the 
major,  blandly,  so  far  forgetting  himself  as  to  push  up  his  spectacles,  and  allow  his 
keen  eyes  to  gaze  straight  into  Detfield’s. 

“ Yes.  He  asked  five  thousand  of  Bessie’s  fortune  as  the  price  of  his  good-will.” 

“ Ah  ! ” ejaculated  the  major,  — “ and  you  ? ” 

“ Told  him  what  I thought  of  him  in  the  plainest  possible  English.” 

The  major  rubbed  his  hands  thoughtfully. 

“ What ! se\  enteen  and  a half  per  cent.,  my  dear  Roxby,  on  the  whole  plunder,”  he 
mused ; “ and  ten  per  cent,  to  me  on  your  share  of  it.  My  worthy  friend,  I don’t 
think  you  were  too  liberal  to  your  partner.” 

“ Should  you  like  to  know,  Captain  Detfield,  what  I think  of  this  ? ” he  continued, 
speaking  aloud. 

“ That’s  precisely  what  I have  come  to  learn.” 

“Well,  I think  you  have  been  very  foolish.  Stop,  don’t  interrupt  me.  I’ll  admit, 
if  you  like,  that  Roxby  is  a rogue.  He  is,  and  a deuced  clever  one  to  boot.  But  if 
you  mean  to  many  Miss  Stanbuiy  you  had  better  make  friends  with  — let  us  say  the 
Mammon  of  unrighteousness.  If  you  don’t,  I’m  afraid  you’ll  find  it  go  a bit  hard 
with  you.  Quite  possible,  I think,  — mind,  I don’t  know,  — that  he  has  some  influence 
With  Simmonds.” 


The  Major's  Advice.  183 

“ I have  told  him  my  opinion  of  him,  and  I’m  not  going  tc  gainsay  it,”  retorted 
Charlie,  doggedly. 

“Now  don’t  be  absurd.  Roxby  is  not  the  man  to  let  passionate  words  stand  in  the 
wav  of  business.  I fancy  he  has  heard  an  unfavorable  estimate  of  his  character  once 
or  twice  in  his  time.  Dear  me ! it  occurs  to  all  of  us.  I have  had  harsh  language 
levelled  at  me  before  now,  although  I try  always  to  do  my  duty  towards  my  neighbor. 
They  would  perhaps  venture  on  more ; but  an  old  soldier,  as  you  know  and  others 
know,  understands  how  to  curb  license  of  speech.” 

The  easy  urbanity  with  which  the  major  uttered  this  sentence  was  delicious.  It 
was  suavity  concealing  the  pistol ; that  punctilious  courtesy  that  so  often  preceded 
the  bitterest  quarrels  in  the  old  duelling  days.  True,  the  major  has  lived  later  than 
those  times,  but  also  he  has  lived  much  abroad,  and  justified  his  luck  at  ecartt  on 
more  than  one  occasion  in  the  field.  In  years  gone  by,  Claxby  Jenkens  had  been 
well  known  at  Spa,  Homburg,  Baden,  etc.,  as  a fortunate  gambler,  and  one  ever  ready 
to  dissipate  any  misunderstanding  of  the  card-table  with  a hair-trigger. 

Charlie  listened  to  this  address  with  no  little  astonishment.  He  had  his  own 
opinion  concerning  the  major’s  military  antecedents,  and  considered  his  claim  to  the 
title  he  bore  of  very  dubious  character.  Still  he  had  not  come  there  to  quarrel  with 
Claxby  Jenkens.  He  was  quite  full  enough  of  troubles  without  embarking  in  more. 

“ Roxby  has  taken  his  line,  and  I have  taken  mine,”  he  said  gravely,  after  a little. 
“ I am  not  going  to  begin  by  swindling  my  wife  that  is  to  be,  out  of  five  thousand 
pounds.  I’d  sooner  never  wed  her,  than  win  her  on  those  terms.  We  must  wait;  ” 
and  Charlie  rose  to  go. 

“ Just,  of  course,  what  you  can’t  afford  to  do.  Simmonds  will  devour  you,  body 
and  bones,  before  three  weeks  are  over  your  head,  and  you  will  have  lost  what  it’s 
difficult  to  receive,  — position.” 

“ What  must  be,  must,”  replied  Charlie,  sententiously.  “ I’ve  been  a fool,  but  I’m 
not  going  to  keep  what  you  call  position  by  being  an  utter  blackguard.  Good-by.” 

“Well,  remember  that  I have  given  you  the  best  advice  I could,  and  that  I think 
you  very  foolish  for  not  following  it ; but  I do  rather  like  your  pluck,  and  if  ever  it 
lies  in  my  power  to  do  you  a turn  in  re  Roxby,  you  may  depend  upon  me.” 

“ Thank  you,”  replied  Charlie ; “ but  that’s  rather  a thousand  to  fifteen  chances,  I’m 
afraid.” 

“ You’re  right,  it  is ; hut  should  I tell  you  to  back  it,  do.  I don’t  play  Roxby  till 
I’ve  a very  strong  hand.  Good-by.” 

It  was  curious  that  a cool,  cautious  man  like  Claxby  Jenkens  should  allow  himself 
to  be  carried  away  even  thus  far,  and  commit  himself  to  antagonizing  a man  who  had 
so  invariably  proved  too  much  for  him  as  Roxby.  Yet  this  is  often  the  case ; the 
shrewdest  speculator  cannot  resist  the  bias  of  a special  enmity.  Men  will  sacrifice 
their  own  immediate  interests  in  the  prosecution  of  a good  quarrel. 

The  lawyers  could  tell  strange  tales  of  money  lavished  on  the  contention  of  rights 
©f  way,  or  similar  cases,  which  mattered  really  but  little  to  the  belligerents,  though 


184  Two  Kisses. 

they  were  fou^lit  out  to  the  bitter  end  with  an  animosity  that  caused  utter  oblivion 

of  the  cost  of  battle. 

So  Claxby  Jenkens  was  thoroughly  prepared  to  sacrifice  time,  money,  and  other 
advantages,  should  he  ever  perceive  a successful  opportunity  of  entering  the  lists 
against  Koxby.  He  had  over-reached  him  two  or  three  times.  Let  him  look  to  h‘m- 
self  if  ever  he,  the  major,  held  the  cards. 

Claxby  Jenkens  sat  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands  for  some  minutes  after  his 
visitor  had  left  him.  He  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  what  it  was  possible  that 
Koxby  might  have  been  guilty  of,  with  regard  of  this  trust  of  Bessie  Stanbury’s. 
He  knew  his  friend  Koxby  well,  and  thought  it  quite  probable  he  had  dipped  pretty 
deep  into  his  ward’s  fortune  already. 

“ Five  thousand  he  wants  assigned  to  him  right  out,  and  five  thousand  or  more,  at 
least,  is  probably  invested  in  some  straw  and  waste-paper  speculation,  the  shaves  of 
which  are  down  at  zero.  I’d  give  a good  deal  to  know  who  is  his  fellow-trustee.  He 
must  be  a nonenity,  or  Koxby  would  never  dare  propose  such  a nefarious  game  as 
this  to  Detfield.  Ha ! ” he  chuckled,  “ I should  like  to  have  seen  my  esteemed 
coadjutor’s  face,  when  the  guardsman  cut  up  awkward.  Over-play,  that,  my  dear 
friend ; rattling  out  your  trumps  without  knowing  your  partner’s  calibre.  Passing  the 
king  is  awkward,  when  the  man  going  shares  with  -you  calls  attention  to  the  same. 
For  once,  my  friend  Koxby,  I knew  more  than  you.  I could  have  told  you  that 
because  a gentleman’s  broke,  it  don’t  always  follow  he’s  turned  blackguard.  I could 
have  warned  you  that  Detfield  must  be  sounded  delicately,  certain  to  break  away 
from  clumsy  handling.  You  fish  with  very  strong  tackle,  and  don’t  waste  time  over 
landing  your  victims ; but  then  you  see  you  have  the  hook  pretty  deep  in  their  gills 
as  a rule.  When  it  comes  to  a light  line,  and  really  playing  a fish,  I think  I’ve  the 
best  of  you.  Yet  you  had  fair  reason  to  suppose  that  Detfield  was  struck  pretty 
deep.  I guessed  his  temper  better  than  you,  though,  and  could  have  told  you  to  be 
careful  how  you  opened  the  trenches.  Well,  we  shall  see  what  comes  of  it;  but,  if 
ever,  my  esteemed  partner,  you  happen  to  be  on  the  end  of  my  line,  I’ll  make  yon 
acknowledge  I can  handle  a rod.0 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AUNT  MATILDA  SIDES  WITH  THE  LOVERS. 

Miss  Matilda,  now  she  has  accepted  the  fact  of  Bessie’s  engagement,  is  of  course 
enthusiastic  about  it.  She  pooh-poohs  Aunt  Clem,  and  takes  the  whole  affair  under 
her  immediate  protection.  When  her  sister  and  Bessie  hint  that  they  have  fears  about 
what  Mr.  Koxby  may  say  to  it,  that  Charlie  is  nervous  on  this  point,  Miss  Matilda 
literally  stiffens  in  her  skirts,  and  replies  that  she  presumes  her  opinion  will  have  some 


Aunt  Matilda  Sides  with  the  Lovers. 


185 


weight  with  that  gentleman.  That  she  has  thought  it  over,  that  it  is  the  height  of 
imprudence  for  a girl  to  choose  a husband  from  one  of  the  vagabond  professions  must 
be  allowed ; but  Bessie  has  done  so,  and  therefore  there  is  no  more  to  be  said. 

“If  the  chit  chooses  to  run  away  from  her  foolish  old  aunts,  — you  needn’t  hem, 
Clementina,  you’re  getting  on,  — and  die  upon  what  somebody  calls  India’s  coral 
strand,  — though  if  it  is  all  coral  I don’t  know  why  coral  should  be  the  price  it  is  in  the 
shops,  — still  she  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  thinking  in  her  last  moments,  and  after 
pointing  out  the  extreme  folly  of  her  engagement,  we  did  the  best  we  could  for  her, 
on  ascertaining  that  she  would  not  listen  to  reason.” 

To  which  species  of  half-support,  half-badinage,  Bessie  usually  replied  with 
laughter,  caresses,  and  promises  of  Indian  shawls,  if  ever  she  should  really  proceed  to 
the  East. 

“ But  you  know,  Aunt  Matilda,  Charlie  is  in  the  Guards,  and  they  never  go  to 
India,  or  abroad,  except  on  service,”  Bessie  would  observe. 

“ My  dear,”  Miss  Stanbuiy  would  retort,  solemnly,  “ we’re  always  fighting  some- 
where. We’re  always  putting  somebody  to  rights,  and  if  somebody  objects,  well,  then 
we  send  the  soldiers  to  point  out  how  ridiculous  he’s  been,  whether  it  is  in  Africa  or 
Abyssinia ; and  when  we’ve  killed  a king  or  burnt  a capital,  we  boast  we’re  extending 
civilization.  And  as  for  you  — well,  you’re  going  to  marry  one  of  these  apostles  of 
civilization,  and  think  just  because  he  happens  to  belong  to  a home  regiment  that  he 
will  stay  at  home.  Pooh,  child!  when  he  gets  tired  of  your  pretty  face,  he’ll  be  like 
all  the  rest  of  them,  and  turn  secretary  or  aid-de-camp,  or  volunteer,  or  something  — 
I don’t  know  what ; but  he’ll  be  off  to  where  the  science  of  killing  is  being  carried  on, 
depend  upon  it.” 

But  when,  some  two  or  three  mornings  after  the  announcement  of  her  engagement, 
Bessie  came  down  to  breakfast  with  a pout  on  her  lip,  the  suspicion  of  a tear  trembling 
on  her  lashes,  and  a telegram  in  her  hand,  Miss  Matilda  raised  her  head,  and 
exclaimed : — 

“ Mercy  upon  us ! what  ails  the  child  ? He’s  not  ordered  to  Singapore  — wherever 
that  may  be  — yet,  is  he  ? ” 

“ No,  aunt,  dear,  don’t  tease  me  to-day,  please.  This  is  from  Charlie,  he  can’t  be 
here  to-day  to  explain  himself,  because  he’s  on  duty ; but  he  telegraphs  to  say  that 
Mr.  Boxby  will  not  hear  of  his  marrying  me.  But  I will,  in  spite  of  ten*  thousand 
Roxbys,  if  I wait  ten  years  for  him,”  and  Bessie  stamped  her  little  foot  on  the  carpet, 
threw  back  her  head  defiantly,  and  looked  a nineteenth-centuiy  heroine  all  over. 

If  you  think  there  are  no  heroines  in  silken  garments,  you  mistake  greatly.  There 
are  plenty  of  women  who  drive  their  carriages,  and  mix  in  good  society,  who  suffer 
mutely,  silently,  and  live  more  heroic  lives  than  those  who  gain  the  badge  of  heroism 
in  a few  hours  or  minutes  of  passionate  excitement : — 

**  For  the  mark  of  rank  in  nature  is  capacity  for  pain, 

4ni  the  anguish  of  the  singer  makes  the  sweetness  of  the  strain.** 


186 


Two  Kisses. 


“O  Bessie  darling,  I am  so  sorry,”  cried  Aunt  Clem.  “We  must  hare  a good 
talk  at  once  over  things.  True  love,  alas  — ” 

“Don’t  believe  in  obstacles  or  whimpering,”  interrupted  Miss  Stanbury,  tartly. 
“ Yes,  we  must  have  a talk,  as  you  say,  and  that  pretty  speedily ; but  not  the  sort  of 
talk  you  mean,  Clementina.  I intend  to  have  it  out  with  Mr.  B-oxby  before  many 
hours  are  over  my  head.  I mean  to  know  why  he  takes  it  upon  himself  to  reject  a 
proposal  for  my  ward’s  hand,  without  consulting  me.  Bessie  is  my  ward  as  much  as  his.” 
“ Of  course  lam!”  cried  the  girl ; “ and  we  will  go  together,  Aunt  Matilda,  will 
we  not  ? ” 

“ Hum ! my  dear,  I don’t  know  about  that.  I think  perhaps  I had  better  see  Mr. 
Roxby  alone  in  the  first  instance.  It  would  be  the  more  proper  thing,  you  know.” 

“ Yes,  aunt,”  replied  Bessie,  softly,  as  she  insidiously  nestled  herself  into  Miss 
Stanbury ’s  -ample  skirts ; “ but  you  know  it  would  be  the  more  practical  thing  to  give 
me  a chance  of  also  expressing  my  opinion.” 

“ Girls  of  your  age  are  not  supposed  to  have  opinions,”  retorted  Aunt  Matilda, 
laughing. 

“ But  they  have,  and  pretty  strong  ones  too,  when  it  comes  to  whether  they  are  to 
give  up  a lover  or  not,”  said  the  girl,  with  an  emphatic  little  nod  of  her  head.  “ Don’t 
you  be  afraid,  mine  aunt ; I’ll  be  as  still  as  a mouse  till  you’ve  said  your  say.  But 
when  it  comes  to  resigning  Charlie,  I mean  to  speak  out.” 

“ And  what  do  you  mean  to  say,  Bessie  ? ” inquired  Miss  Clementina. 

“ That  I won’t,”  replied  the  girl,  stoutly. 

“ Very  good,  my  dear ! ” observed  Miss  Stanbury.  “ That’s  laconic,  and  to  the 
point.  A great  matter  in  women’s  argument,  to  say  nothing  of  men’s.” 

“ But  do  you  suppose  you  two  will  put  down  Mr.  Roxby  ? ” said  Miss  Clementina, 
in  somewhat  quavering  tones.  “ You  know  he  is  so  very  decided,  Matilda,  dear.” 

“ I don’t  think,”  said  Miss  Stanbury,  addressing  an  imaginary  audience,  “ that  I 
have  been  usually  considered  weak  in  character.  Of  course  I admit  that  we  are  not, 
as  a rule,  judges  of  ourselves ; but  still  I think,  pardon  me,  Clementina,  that  I gener- 
ally hold  my  own.” 

Aunt  Clem,  knowing  that,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  this  was  most  indubitably 
the  case,  cordially  assented.  As  for  Bessie,  feeling  conscious  of  having  wound  Aunt 
Matilda  rouiid  her  finger  many  times,  she  did  not  endorse  this  statement  with  quite 
the  enthusiasm  Miss  Stanbury  deemed  it  required. 

“ You’ve  doubts,  child  ? ” she  asked,  sharply. 

“ Say,  rather  fears,  aunt,”  replied  the  girl,  sadly.  “You  are  very  kind,  but  I am 
only  afraid  Mr.  Roxby  may  prove  too  strong  for  you.  He  holds  great  power,  you 
know,  as  far  as  I am  concerned  at  present.” 

“ Pooh ! he  will  listen  to  me,”  retorted  Miss  Stanbury,  pluming  herself. 

“ He  wouldn’t  listen  to  Charlie,”  exclaimed  Bessie,  dolefully,  reflecting,  with  all  a 
woman’s  faith  in  her  first  love,  that  the  pleading  she  had  found  so  irresistible  herself 
must  have  succeeded  were  success  at  the  command  of  human  tongue. 


Aunt  Matilda  Sides  with  the  Lovers. 


187 


Slie  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Iloxby’s  views  of  a suitable  partner  for  her  hand. 

“ Don’t  you  think,  aunt,  it  would  be  as  well  to  wait  until  I have  seen  Charlie, 
before  we  speak  our  minds  to  Mr.  Boxby  ? ” observed  Bessie,  shyly,  after  a short 

pause. 

“ Well,”  exclaimed  Miss  Stanbury,  “ this  may  be  prudence ; but  if  this  is  being  in 
love,  I intend,  miss,  to  study  the  phenomenon.  The  girls  of  my  time  did  not  give 
away  their  hearts  in  the  off-hand  way  you  have  thought  proper  to  do,  but  when  we 
did,  we  gave  them  with  a will.  We  felt,  — we,  we  in  short,  — ” 

“ Were  positive  volcanoes,”  cried  Bessie,  with  a merry  laugh. 

“ Nothing  of  the  sort,  little  impudence ! ” replied  Miss  Stanbury,  joining  for  a 
second  in  her  niece’s  merriment;  “ but  we  loved  in  real  earnest.” 

The  girl  looked  at  her  aunt  for  some  few  moments.  Miss  Matilda’s  face  had  soft- 
ened, and  the  sharp,  dark  eyes  gazed  dreamily  back  into  days  long  gone  by.  Little 
doubt,  as  that  silence  stole  over  her,  that  Miss  Stanbury  conjured  up  a love-dream, 
bright  once  as  her  niece’s  was  now,  which  had  never  been  realized.  Bessie  read  the 
saddened,  serious  features  aright,  and  forbore  to  interrupt  the  thread  of  those  old 
memories.  If  she  had  entertained  any  doubt,  the  nervous,  anxious  glance  with  which 
Miss  Clementina  regarded  her  sister  would  have  convinced  her  that  she  was  right, 
and  that  her  stately,  even  still  handsome,  aunt  had  gone  through  a serious,  though 
unfortunate,  attachment. 

“Well,  child,  perhaps  you  are  right,”  remarked  Miss  Stanbury,  at  length.  “It 
would  be  better  on  the  whole,  I think,  to  hear  Charlie  — hem ! I mean  Captain  Det- 
field’s  story.” 

“ Call  him  Charlie,  Aunt  Matilda ; he’s  to  be  your  nephew,  you  know.” 

“ No,  my  dear,  I don’t  know ; but,  if  it’s  any  satisfaction  to  you,  I’ll  own  I hope  he 
may.  There,  that’ll  do,”  she  continued,  in  reply  to  somewhat  vehement  caresses  on 
Bessie’s  part.  “ On  my  word,  I think  you’re  mistaking  me  for  him.” 

“ Aunt  Matilda ! ” cried  the  girl,  springing  to  her  feet,  with  her  cheeks  all  aflame. 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! Don’t  look  so  shocked,  you  little  prude,  as  if  kissing  and  courting 
didn’t  always  go  together.  You  can  take  yourself  off  now;  I want  to  talk  with 
Clementina.” 

The  two  Misses  Stanbury  differed  considerably  about  this  forthcoming  interview 
with  Mr.  Boxby,  — the  subject  of  their  conversation  after  Bessie  had  left  the  room. 
While  Miss  Matilda  announced  her  intention  of  carrying  matters  with  a high  hand, 
her  sister  earnestly  deprecated  any  such  course.  She  pointed  out  that  Mr.  Boxby, 
suave  as  h3  was  in  manner,  had  always  been  veiy  firm  and  dictatorial  whenever  it 
had  come  to  a matter  of  business,  and  adjured  Miss  Stanbury  to  speak  him  fair. 
But  that  lady,  without  reason,  had  allowed  herself  to  attain  white  heat — if  it  may 
be  so  described  — on  the  subject,  and  had  no  notion  of  anybody  disapproving  of  this 
marriage  save  herself.  It  was  clear  Miss  Matilda  meant  to  disburthen  herself.  Hav- 
ing set  her  face  against  the  engagement,  in  the  first  instance,  like  all  renegades,  she 
was  now  a fiery  partisan.  She  panted  to  give  somebody,  or  anybody,  who  objected  to 


188 


Two  Kisses. 


It,  a bit  of  her  mind.  Miss  Stanbury  had  never  been  known  to  have  that  craving 
long  without  there  being  found  a recipient  of  that  oration. 

Great  was  the  excitement  when  Captain  Detfield  was  announced  the  next  day. 
That  usually  nonchalant  officer  could  not  but  be  aware  of  a rustling  disappearing  skirts 
Upward  as  he  himself  ascended  to  the  drawing-room.  There  he  found  Bessie  alone. 

“ Come  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  Charlie,”  she  exclaimed,  their  first  salutations  over. 
“ And  mind  all,  everything.  I must  know  all ; and  remember  it  makes  no  difference.” 

“ I hope  not,  darling,  further  than  that  you  will  have  to  wait.  You’ll  do  that,  won’t 
you  ? ” 

“ You  know  I will.  But  what  did  Mr.  Boxby  say  ? ’ 

“ Oh,  the  old  story.  Of  course  he  knew  I was  broke,  and  no  match  for  you;  could 
not  think  of  consenting.  The  old  stock-comedy  guardian  all  over.  He_  hasn’t  pro- 
duced another  wooer  credited  with  his  support,  has  he,  Bessie  ? ” 

“ Not  much  use  if  he  did,”  said  Bessie,  with  a toss  of  her  head.  “ But  that  is  not 
all,  and  I want  to  know  all.” 

Now  this  was  just  what  Charlie  had  been  puzzling  his  brains  over  for  the  last 
twenty-four  hours.  Was  he  justified  in  telling  his  affianced  what  a precious  scoundrel 
she  had  for  her  guardian  ? — that  the  respectable  Mr.  Boxby  was  quite  as  willing  to 
deal  for  the  disposal  of  her  hand  as  if  he  had  been  a slave-dealer  on  the  White  Nile 
or  at  Tunis.  It  was  not  that  he  had  the  slightest  compunction  about  exposing  Boxby, 
but  he  shrank  from  inflicting  on  the  girl  he  loved  what  must  necessarily  be  a painful 
and  alarming  explanation. 

He  knew  thoroughly  what  little  power  he  had  to  watch  over  her ; that  even  his  veiy 
liberty  was  almost  a toss  up ; that  the  morrow  might  see  him  arrested  for  debt.  But, 
supposing  it  did  not,  how  could  he  interpose  between  Bessie  and  her  guardian  ? All 
this  had  troubled  Detfield  considerably  since  that  unlucky  dinner  in  Gordon  square. 

The  girl  watched  his  face,  while  he  still  hesitated.  Those  that  love  are  quick  to 
read  the  features  of  those  who  hold  their  hearts.  She  saw  the  doubt  with  which  he 
struggled.  What  it  was  she  knew  not,  but  it  was  clear  as  daylight  to  her  that  her 
lover  debated  in  his  own  mind  whether  he  should  tell  her  all  that  had  passed  between 
himself  and  Boxby. 

“ Charlie,  dear,”  she  said,  softly,  at  length,  “ surely  there  should  be  no  secrets 
between  us  two.  Am  I not  entitled  to  know  all  ? ” 

“ Of  course  you  are,  Bessie ; but  forgive  me  if  I pause  a little.  I’m  bothered, 
child ; I can’t  make  up  my  mind  whether  you  had  better  know  this  or  not.” 

“ I feel  I’d  better  know,  and  woman’s  instinct  rarely  deceives  her.  What  is  it  ? ” 

“ Can  you  promise  to  hold  your  tongue  about  it,  — not  to  mention  it  either  to  your 
aunts  or  Boxby,  — if  I tell  you  ? ” demanded  Charlie,  looking  down  into  the  sweet, 
earnest,  loving  face  that  now  rested  against  his  arm. 

“ Yes,  I promise,”  she  said,  simply. 

“ Then,  Bessie,  all  I can  say  is,  that  your  hand  is  a mere  matter  of  sale ; * and  with 
that  he  poured  into  her  ears  the  story  of  Boxbv’s  proposition, 


Aunt  Matilda  Sides  with  the  Lovers. 


189 


She  spoke  not  a word  till  his  story  was  finished.  Then  she  rose,  with  face  pale, 
calm,  and  resolute. 

“ I’m  in  the  hands,  Charlie,  it  seems,  of  a very  consummate  scoundrel ; but,  my 
darling,  I shall  never  blench  from  my  troth.  We  may  have  to  wait;  but  he  cannot 
interfere  with  me  much.  My  aunts  will  see  that  I’m  not  bullied ; and,  though  a man 
who  would  propose  what  he  did  to  you  i3  not  likely  to  stick  at  trifles,  I don’t  think  he 
can  annoy  me  to  any  great  extent.  But  I want  one  thing  from  you,”  she  continued, 
looking  earnestly  into  his  face. 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ Release  from  that  promise.” 

“ Certainly  not,”  replied  Detfield,  hastily.  “ Think  for  a minute,  Bessie.  It  will 
only  complicate  affairs  much  more.  It  is  far  better  that  both  you  and  your  aunts 
should  assume  no  such  knowledge.  Let  them  do  anything  they  like,  but  never 
allude  to  that.  It  can  do  no  good.” 

“ Aunt  Matilda  and  I,  Charlie,  intend  to  have  it  out  with  Mr.  Roxby  almost  imme- 
diately. Aunt  intends  to  know  upon  what  he  grounds  his  objections.” 

“ Very  little  trouble  about  replying  to  that,  sweet.  And  you,  Bessie  ? ” 

“ I intend  to  tell  him  I will  marry  no  one  else.” 

“ Well,  confine  yourself  to  that  statement.  But,  believe  me,  Roxby  is  a dangerous 
man  when  affronted.  I’m  not  sure  whether  I shan’t  pay  due  penalty  for  telling  him 
what  I thought  of  him.  We  won’t  let  it  go  further.” 

“ It  shall  be  as  my  lord  wills,”  smiled  the  girl,  as  she  dropped  her  head  on  his 

shoulder. 

But  at  this  juncture  Miss  Stanbury,  having  heralded  her  coming  by  a most  unneces- 
sary altercation  with  the  door-handle,  presented  herself. 

“ Well,  Captain  Detfield,”  she  exclaimed,  sharply,  “ you’ve  been  kicked  out,  Bessie 
informs  me ; sent  about  your  business  by  Mr.  Roxby.  You  don’t  look  much  like  a 
case  of  rejected  addresses  either.” 

“ And  don’t  feel  it,”  replied  Charlie,  laughing,  as  he  shook  hands.  “ I’ve  too  good 
friends  in  the  citadel  to  despair,  one  of  the  most  important  of  which  is  — ” 

“ The  girl  herself,”  interrupted  Miss  Matilda.  “ Yes,  I know  you  were  going  to 
say  something  pretty  to  me,  and  now  Mr.  Roxby  has  put  my  blood  up  by  his  cavalier 
treatment,  you  can  put  me  down  as  on  your  side.  You  are  a very  bad  match  for  her 
all  the  same,  you  know.” 

“ Aunt ! aunt ! ” exclaimed  Bessie. 

“ Yes,  he  is,  child;  and  quite  aware  of  it.” 

“ Thoroughly.  I’ve  only  one  thing  to  say,  Miss  Stanbuiy , — I had  no  idea  she  was 
an  heiress  when  I asked  her  to  many  me.” 

“ I know  you  hadn’t,  — another  instance  of  the  folly  of  man.  I wonder  how  you 
proposed  to  live.  Never  mind ; 1 like  you  even  tor  that  very  foolishness,  Captain 
Detfield,  and  intend  to  fight  your  battle  for  you  as  far  as  I can.” 


l 90 


Two  Kisses. 


Detfield  bowed,  and  Bessie  kissed  her  aunt. 

“Well,  sir,”  resumed  Miss  Stanbury,  laughing,  “you’re  a soldier,  and  know  that 
we  mustn’t  complain  if  the  opening  of  the  campaign  looks  a little  against  us.  Make 
this  girl  a good  husband  if  we  win,  and  I’ll  ask  no  more.” 

“ Of  course  he  will,”  said  Bessie,  calmly ; thereby,  with  all  a woman’s  tact,  reliev 
ing  her  lover  from  an  awkward  protestation. 

“Ah,  my  dear,”  retorted  Miss  Stanbury,  “I’ll  hear  what  you’ve  got  to  say  a 
twelvemonth  after  your  wedding.  If  we  didn’t  all  think  that  in  your  stage  of  pro- 
ceedings, we  should  never  get  married.” 

It  was  not  likely  that  Detfield  or  Bessie  would  attempt  to  reply  to  this  speech ; but 
that  you  can  talk  without  speaking  is  a fact,  however  much  you  may  laugh  at  the 
phraseology.  The  girl’s  lips  syllabled,  “ Tell  her  all ; ” and  Charlie  replied  by  a quick 
nod  of  dissent. 

This  little  telegraphing  did  not  escape  Miss  Stanbuiy,  but  she  forbore  to  notice  it. 

“Bessie,  Captain  Detfield,  has  no  doubt  told  you  my  intention  of  seeing  Mr. 
Roxby  immediately  in  your  interests,  and  you,  I presume,  have  acquainted  her  with 
all  that  it  is  needful  for  her  to  know.” 

“ Yes,  and  I cannot  express  my  thanks  for  the  way  you  are  standing  my  friend  on 
the  occasion.” 

“No  thanks,  sir.  We’ll  shake  hands  after  the  battle’s  won,  and  I’ve  already  told 
you  how  to  repay  me.  But  remember,  Matilda  Stanbuiy  has  never  been  a lukewarm 
friend,  and  she’s  taken  a fancy  to  you,  I don’t  know  why.  Excuse  an  old  woman’s 
joke,  but  I really  think  it  is  because  you  happen  to  be  the  greatest  scapegrace  she  was 
ever  acquainted  with,  and  that  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  the  greatest  torment  she 
was  ever  afflicted  with ; ” and  before  the  assailed  had  time  to  reply,  with  a ringing 
laugh  Miss  Stanbury  had  left  the  room. 

“ Your  aunt’s  a brick,  Bessie ! ” exclaimed  Detfield,  as  the  door  closed.  “ I should 
like  to  buy  her  something,  if  I only  knew  what.” 

“ Good  Heavens ! don’t  appeal  to  me,”  laughed  Bessie.  “ I assure  you,  the  advent 
of  her  birthday  occasions  me  weeks  of  thought.” 

“Well,  good-by ; I shall  reflect  upon  the  subject.  Meanwhile,  we’ll  pin  our  faith 
on  Aunt  Matilda.” 

“ Yes,  and  you  must  believe  in  Bessie,  too,  you  know.” 

Charlie,  having  replied  in  satisfactory  fashion  to  this  last  observation,  took  hia 
departure. 

A tendency  to  shower  gifts  upon  those  who  have  pleased  us  is  very  common.  The 
difficulty  of  selecting  a suitable  present  is,  it  may  be  presumed,  an  interposition  of 
Providence  to  prevent  our  exceeding  our  incomes.  We  ponder  this  weighty  question 
so  long  that  the  time  goes  by,  and  eventually  we  give  nothing  but  those  liberal 
intentions. 


Which  Abounds  in  Plain  Speaking. 


191 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

WHICH  ABOUNDS  IN  PLAIN  SPEAKING. 

There  are  many  people  who  can  decide  quickly  enough  upon  the  course  they 
intend  to  pursue,  but  shrink,  dally,  and  delay  when  it  comes  to  active  measures. 
They  want  nerve  to  face  the  unpleasantness  which  the  line  of  conduct  their  judg- 
ment urges  them  to  adopt  necessitates.  If  ever  it  was  your  lot  to  witness  the  levee 
of  one  with  power  in  the  land,  you  must,  while  waiting,  have  seen  many  instances  of 
this  in  the  antechamber. 

Of  modest  merit  with  powerful  claims,  shivering  at  the  thought  of  confronting  the 
great  man;  of  reckless  self-assertion,  without  the  slightest  grounds  for  demanding 
what  it  requires,  tripping  jubilantly,  hopefully,  into  the  great  man’s  room,  and 
returning  either  triumphant,  or  not  one  whit  cast  down  by  failure.  It  is  there  the 
justice  of  the  world  is  meted  out  somewhat  hardly.  It  is  always  odds  on  confidence 
versus  modesty.  Again,  confidence  is  always  willing  to  tiy  its  luck  over  again,  while 
the  man  wanting  in  faith  in  himself  falls  back  appalled  by  the  first  rebuff. 

Painful  places  those  antechambers,  wherein  sit  the  supplicants  for  the  loaves,  and 
fishes.  I can  remember  a public  office  in  which  one  sat  who  always  reminded  those 
whose  duty  or  necessity  it  might  be  to  confer  with  him,  of  an  ill-disposed  mastiff  on 
the  chain.  He  apparently  deemed  that  his  position  required  him  to  be  ill-tempered ; 
that  discourtesy  to  his  inferiors  asserted  his  dignity ; that  insulting  those  who  had  to 
transact  business  with  him  impressed  them  with  a sense  of  his  power  and  ability. 
Where  he  may  be  now,  I know  not,  — making  himself  disagreeable,  probably,  in  the 
Elysian  Fields ; but  a jubilant  cry  went  through  a large  profession  when  he  seceded 
from  office. 

Miss  Stanbury  was  a woman  of  decision,  and  one  who  liked  to  carry  out  her  views 
as  quickly  as  might  be.  Once  her  mind  was  made  up  to  confront  Mr.  Roxby,  and 
support  Charlie  Detfield,  she  thought  the  sooner  she  and  Itoxby,  in  her  own  homely 
phrase,  had  it  out,  the  better.  That  Miss  Matilda  was  a little  blind,  in  the  ardor  of 
her  partisanship,  to  the  weakness  of  her  cause  must  be  admitted.  She  knew  nothing 
of  her  co-guardian’s  nefarious  proposals ; and,  pu  tting  that  on  one  side,  there  could  be 
no  dispute  that  Mr.  Roxby  was  only  doing  his  duty  by  his  ward  in  setting  his  face 
against  this  marriage.  Put  Miss  Matilda,  when  she  took  a thing  up  never  did  it  by 
halves,  and  penned  a note  next  day,  requesting  Mr.  Roxby  to  call  and  confer  with  her 
upon  serious  business,  at  his  earliest  convenience. 

That  gentleman  was  not  surprised  in  the  least  at  the  summons. 

“Of  course,  the  young  villain  has  got  round  all  the  women,”  he  mused;  “Bessie, 
naturally,  head  overeajs  in  love  with  him,  — a girl  is  pretty  sure  to  commit  that 
weakness  when  she  ought  not,  — I,  represented  as  the  tyrannical  guardian,  and  her 


192 


Two  Kisses. 


aunts,  romantic  as  all  elderly  spinsters  are,  determined  to  take  the  pait  of  the  young 
people.  Ordinary  course  of  events  that.  What  I should  like  to  know  is,  whether  the 
young  fool  has  thought  proper  to  blurt  out  my  proposition  ? Who  could  have  dreamt 
of  a man  in  his  position  presuming  to  be  virtuous  ? Well,  I intend  him,  at  all  events, 
to  learn  that  virtue  requires  self-sacrifice,  and  is  its  own  reward.  Three  or  four  weeks 
in  a sponging-house  will  probably  modify  his  notions  considerably.  I ought  to  have 
waited  till  he  was  there  before  I spoke.  Yet  how  could  I guess  that  idiot  Jenkens 
would  make  such  a mistake  in  his  man  ? — that  one  so  utterly  ruined  would  not  snatch 
at  the  plank  that  promised  safety  ? ” 

That  Charlie  Detfield  should  have  taken  the  line  he  did  was  utterly  incomprehen- 
sible to  Mr.  Eoxby.  He  had  dealt  with  men  in  difficulties  mam  times,  and  was  too 
conversant  how  the  tone  of  morality  lowers,  under  such  circumstances,  not  to  believe 
that  the  guardsman  would  have  closed  willingly  with  his  proposal. 

Eoxby  had  fought  his  way  out  of  too  many  delicate  situations  in  his  time  to  feel  in 
the  least  uneasy  about  confronting  Miss  Stanbury.  On  the  contrary,  he  jumped  at 
the  proposed  interview ; would,  indeed,  have  requested  one,  just  to  feel  how  the  land 
lay,  had  Miss  Matilda  not  taken  the  initiative.  One  of  his  maxims  was  to  be  aggres- 
sive ; to  meet  attack  half-way  and  cany  the  war  into  the  enemy’s  country,  if  possible. 
Miss  Stanbury  had,  no  doubt,  a good  deal  to  say ; well,  she  would  find  that  he  had 
still  more.  There  certainly  had  never  been  serious  dispute  between  them  as  yet,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  say  how  such  might  end  if  it  should  happen.  Still  he  recollected 
with  considerable  satisfaction  that  the  lady  had  mostly  followed  his  advice  or  sugges- 
tions in  the  past  without  discussion.  Was  it  likely  she  would  prove  troublesome  now  ? 

Miss  Stanbury  had  promised  Bessie  that  she  should  be  present  at  this  interview ; 
but,  when  the  thing  became  definitely  fixed,  the  good  lady  got  a little  nerved.  She 
remembered  Mr.  Eoxby’s  cool,  terse,  logical  way  of  putting  things,  and  decided  that 
she  would  see  him  alone  in  the  first  instance. 

“ I shall  send  for  you,  Bessie,  rest  assured ; but  I think  it  best  Mr.  Eoxby  and  I 
should  have  a private  confabulation  to  begin  with.” 

“Very  well,”  returned  her  niece;  “but  mind,  you  promise  that  I shall  see  him 
before  he  goes.  I must  tell  him  my  determination  regarding  Charlie.  I wish  him  to 
know  that  from  my  own  lips.” 

“It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  child,”  replied  Miss  Matilda;  “but  if  I can’t  win  the 
battle  for  you,  do  you  suppose  you  will  turn  the  tire  ? ” 

“ No ; but  Mr.  Eoxby  will  thoroughly  understar  d,  after  he  has  heard  what  I have 
got  to  say,  that,  at  all  events,  he  need  not  sanction  any  other  pretender  to  my  hand.” 
“Oh,  yes,  my  dear,”  replied  Miss  Stanbury,  a little  sharply  (her  bristles  were  up 
in  expectation  of  the  coming  conflict) ; “of  course,  you  must  say  your  say ; descant 
for  ten  minutes  on  Charlie’s  manifold  perfections,  — he’s  simply  a harum  scarum, 
ruined  soldier,  you  know,  — and  then  wind  up  as  I’m  told  they  do  at  the  theatres,  with 
the  terrible  avowal  that  * you  never,  never,  never  will  be  another’s.’  ” 

“ Aunt  Matilda  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!  ” cried  Jessie,  passionately, 


Which  Abounds  in  Plain  Speaking. 


193 


WI  know  I ought,  my  dear;  but  I'm  afraid,  in  a common-sense  point  of  view,  it 
should  be  for  taking  your  part." 

**  O aunt ! ” 

“ There,  don’t  be  afraid.  I have  pledged  my  word,  and  I’ll  stand  by  the  soldier,  — 
my  colors,  I suppose  I should  have  said.  Now  run  away ; Mr.  Roxby  should  be  here 
almost  immediately." 

A few  minutes  later,  and  that  unctuous  gentleman  was  shaking  hands  with  Miss 
Stanbury,  and  inquiring  anxiously  and  impressively  concerning  the  health  of  herself 
and  her  sister ; so  earnest,  indeed,  in  these  inquiries,  that  one  might  have  almost 
surmised  he  contemplated  a closer  connection  with  one  of  them,  or,  at  least,  had  a 
vested  interest  in  their  living  or  dying.  This  was  Mr.  Roxby’s  way,  and  it  is  astonish- 
ing how  far  this  feigned  anxiety  about  your  friend’s  health  will  carry  you.  An 
absorbing  concern  regarding  an  uncle’s  gout  has  been  known  to  produce  a favorable 
codicil  to  the  nephew  ere  now. 

“ Of  course,  Miss  Stanbury,"  said  the  financier,  their  greetings  over,  “ you  wish  to 
see  me  about  this  unfortunate  infatuation  of  Bessie’s  ? ” 

“ I don’t  call  it  an  unfortunate  infatuation,"  replied  Miss  Matilda,  sharply. 

“ Then,  my  dear  madam,"  observed  Roxby,  with  a deprecatory  smile,  “ you  must 
allow  me  to  ask  what  you  do  call  it.  Of  course,  it  has  sprung  into  life  without  your 
sanction,  and  I can  conceive  you  much  troubled  at  discovering  what  had  happened, 
A sad  business,  very ! ’’  and  the  financier  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“ I don’t  intend  to  admit  it  is  a sad  business  in  the  least,”  returned  Miss  Matilda, 
speaking  rapidly,  and  truth  to  tell  a little  shrilly.  “ The  man  is  a gentleman  — ay 
mark  me,  a thorough  gentleman ; he’s  of  good  family,  and  the  child  is  in  love  with 
him ; of  course  we  know  he’s  in  debt ; but  Bessie  can  pay  those  for  him,  and  they 
will  still  have  enough  to  scramble  along  on.” 

" Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  advocating  the  attack  of  the  greatest  reprobate 
in  the  Household  Brigade  on  your  niece’s  fortune  ? Surely  I cannot  understand  you 
aright  ? ” 

Miss  Stanbury  was  perfectly  aware  that  she  was  advocate  to  a weak  case,  but  when 
a woman  takes  up  a cause  the  last  thing  to  put  her  down  is  argument. 

“ Yes,"  she  said,  “ I do.  First,  I deny  that  he  is  anything  like  the  reprobate  you 
assert  him  to  be." 

“ Living  here  at  Islington,  you  would,  of  course,  have  every  opportunity  of  forming 
your  judgment  on  that  point,"  interposed  Mr.  Roxby,  sarcastically. 

Miss  Matilda  reddened  at  the  taunt. 

“ I know  a gentleman  when  I see  him,"  she  replied  in  heightened  tones,  “ and  I 
know  a man  in  love  wrhen  I see  him.  I dare  say  he’s  sown  a pretty  crop  of  wild  oats 
like  many  of  them,  and  has  yet  to  pay  for  their  garnering;  but  he  loves  Bessie 
thoroughly,  and  if  he  marries  her  I have  no  fear  but  that  he  will  go  on  steadily  for 
the  future.” 

M Fxcuse  me,  Miss  Stanbury,  but  the  reformation  of  the  rake  by  matrimony  k*$ 


194 


Two  Kisses. 


always  been  & most  favorite  hallucination  of  your  sex.  You  must  pardon  me,  if  l 
cannot  agree  with  you.  Men  are  apt  to  regard  it  as  a very  dubious  experiment.  I can 
only  say,  I should  regret  to  see  Bessie  make  a trial  of  it.” 

“ You  object  to  this  marriage  ? ” 

“ Now  really,  you  know,  my  dear  Miss  Stanbury,”  replied  Roxby,  with  a benignant 
smile,  “ you  are  jesting  with  me  when  you  ask  such  a question.  How  can  you  expect 
a business  man  like  myself  to  consent  to  his  ward’s  marrying  a broken  spendthrift  ? ” 

“ Well,”  said  Miss  Matilda,  “ I wish  it,  and  intend  to  promote  it  to  the  oest  of  my 
ability,  there ! ” and  Miss  Stanbury  drew  herself  up  in  her  chair  defiantly. 

“ Quite  evident  now,”  thought  Roxby,  “ that  Detfield  has  kept  silence  concerning 
my  proposition.  My  hand  is  strong ; it’s  time  to  play  out  trumps  and  have  done  with 
this.” 

“ Of  course  I regret,”  he  said  gently,  “ to  be  compelled  to  take  an  opposite  view  of 
this  matter  from  you ; but  the  world  will  undoubtedly  support  me.  I must  at  once  put 
my  decisive  veto  on  any  engagement  between  my  ward  and  Captain  Detfield.” 

“ In  defiance  of  my  express  wish  to  the  contrary  ? ” 

“ 1 can  only  regret  that  what  I presume  is  your  womanly  interest  in  a love  affair 
prevents  your  beholding  this  specious  impostor  in  his  true  colors,”  replied  Mr.  Roxby, 
suavely. 

“ He’s  not  an  impostor,”  cried  Miss  Matilda,  hotly.  “ He  never  made  any  disguise 
about  his  difficulties  from  the  first.” 

“ It  is  useless  to  prolong  the  discussion,”  returned  the  financier.  “ I have  given 
you  my  decision,  and  intend  to  abide  by  it.  I will  now  say  good-by;”  and  Mr. 
Roxby  rose. 

“ Stop,”  exclaimed  Miss  Matilda,  as  she  rang  the  bell ; “ I promised  Bessie  that 
she  should  see  you.” 

“ For  what  good  ? ” he  demanded.  “ Surely  you  might  tell  her  what  my  intentions 
in  this  matter  are.” 

“ She  wishes  to  speak  her  own  mind  on  the  subject,”  replied  Miss  Stanbury,  dryly. 

“ Really,  I have  no  time  to  listen  to  the  lamentations  of  a love-sick  girl,  and  must 
beg  to  be  excused,”  returned  Roxby.  But  ere  his  hand  could  reach  the  door,  it 
opened  and  Bessie  appeared. 

“ How  do  you  do  ? ” she  said,  in  a slightly  nervous  manner,  but  with  a haughty 
carnage  of  her  head  that  arrested  Miss  Stanbury’s  attention  at  once.  There  was  a 
defiance  in  the  girl’s  bearing,  such  as  her  aunt  had  never  seen  yet.  It  did  not  escape 
so  shrewd  an  observer  as  Mr,  Roxby ; outwardly  that  gentleman  was  bland  as  ever  in 
his  salutation ; inwardly  he  muttered,  “ She  knows  all.  The  fool  couldn’t  keep  it 
from  his  sweetheart,  of  course.  I might  have  guessed  as  much.”  But,  with  all  his 
old  theory  strong  upon  him,  Roxby  resolved  at  once  to  come  to  the  point. 

“ No  use,  Bessie,”  he  said,  “ wasting  time  about  why  you  want  to  see  me.  I’ve 
talked  over  the  whole  affair  with  your  aunt,  and  told  her,  as  I now  tell  you,  that  I cannot 
give  mj  consent  to  your  marrying  a man  in  Captain  Detfield’s  notoriously  emharr«£§$$ 


195 


Which  Abounds  in  Plain  Speaking . 

circumstances.  I am  very,  very  sorry  to  have  to  thwart  your  wishes ; but  I should  be 
false  to  my  trust  if  I decided  otherwise.,, 

A most  paternal  speech,  and  past  all  objection,  supposing1  you  did  not  know  the 
inner  life  of  Eoxby,  and  of  what  that  brilliant  financier  was  capable. 

“ I intend,  Mr.  Roxby,  to  dispose  of  myself,”  replied  the  girl,  proudly.  “ It  is  well 
you  should  know  this  at  once ; well  you  should  understand  this  poor  hand  is  not  on 
sale  to  the  highest  bidder.  Do  I make  myself  clear  ? ” 

“ Perfectly ! ” rejoined  her  guardian,  with  an  easy  smile.  “ You  mean  to  marry  for 
love,  not  money ; foolish  from  my  point  of  view,  of  course,  but  young  ladies  of  your 
age  are  apt  to  be  romantic,  — to  neglect  substantial  benefits  for  a day-dream.” 

His  diplomatic  speech  puzzled  Bessie. 

“ I have  pledged  my  troth  to  Captain  Detfield,”  she  continued,  after  a slight  pause. 
**  So  I am  grieved  to  hear.  When  you  are  of  age  it  will,  of  course,  be  m your 
own  power  to  carry  out  that  preposterous  engagement,”  replied  Roxby,  blandly.  “ But 
there  are  a good  many  changes  take  place  in  our  opinions  in  three  years.  Quite  pos- 
sible that  Captain  Detfield  may  deem  his  circumstances  require  a wealthy  bride  in  a 
very  much  shorter  period.” 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  with  anger,  as  she  replied : — 

“ At  all  events  I trust  him,  and  can  wait.” 

“ No  doubt,”  retorted  Roxby.  “ You  are  young ; can  afford  to  wait  He  can’t.” 

“ You  don’t  know  Charlie,”  cried  Bessie,  as  the  angry  blood  rushed  tumultuously 
to  her  temples. 

“ Hum ! fairly,  I think.  A broken-down  guardsman,  endeavoring  to  avert  ruin  by 
marrying  an  heiress.  Pooh ! a very  commonplace  character.” 

It  was  rash  of  him  to  launch  that  taunt.  He  might  have  seen  the  gathering  passion 
in  the  girl’s  face  the  last  few  minutes. 

“ Yes,”  she  cried,  all  recollections  of  her  promise  scattered  to  the  winds.  “ You  do 
know  him  now  ; and  he  and  I know  you.  You  have  discovered  that,  if  he  is  ruined, 
he  is  not  the  unprincipled  fool  with  whom  you  thought  you  had  to  deal ; that  he 
scorns  to  purchase  his  bride’s  hand  with  her  own  money.  He  has  thrown  your 
infamous  proposal  back  in  your  own  teeth,  and  given  in  plain  language  his  opinion 
of  you.  Mine,  sir,  coincides  with  his.” 

“ Doubtless,”  he  murmured,  with  an  evil  sneer. 

“ His  expressions  were  none  too  strong,”  she  continued,  passionately.  “ Whether 
you  can  work  him  harm  or  not,  I don’t  know ; but,  if  you  can,  you  will  most  likely.” 
“You  shall  see,  miss,”  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 

“ Less  than  three  years,  and  we  shall  be  beyond  the  reach  of  your  malice.  Mean- 
while, don’t  count  upon  my  hand  as  negotiable  in  the  money-market,”  and,  with  a 
bend  of  extreme  dignity,  Bessie  withdrew. 

As  for  Miss  Matilda,  she  had  sat  open-eyed  and  thunderstruck  during  this  stormy 
conversation.  She  had  been  actually  appalled  by  her  niece’s  vehemence.  Since  her 
childish  days  Miss  Stanbury  had  never  seen  Bessie  in  such  wrath. 


196 


Two  Kisses. 


As  the  girl  left  the  room,  she  turned  to  Mr.  Roxby  to  seek  &n  explanation,  and 
asked,  “ What  does  she  mean  ? ” 

Mean,  madam  ? ” replied  Roxby,  with  lips  white  with  passion;  “ that  she  is  pos- 
sessed of  the  most  infernal  temper  of  any  young  woman  in  England,  and  is  the  most 
infatuated  idiot  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  come  across.” 

“ Mr.  Roxby ! ” exclaimed  Aunt  Matilda,  bristling  with  indignation  at  his  coarse 
abuse  of  her  niece. 

But  that  gentleman  simply  muttered  a curt  good-day,  and  was  gone. 



CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

BROODING  ON  VENGEANCE. 

Montague  Gobe,  in  his  agony,  is  brooding  over  the  wrong,  the  shame,  that  has 
come  to  him,  in  a fashion  not  unlikely  to  result  in  murder.  The  days  of  duelling  are 
over  in  England  he  knows,  and,  even  if  they  were  not,  his  feeling  at  the  present 
moment  inclines  him  more  to  shooting  down  his  wife’s  seducer,  as  if  he  were  a dog. 
There  are  men,  he  is  aware,  who  are  quite  content  with  the  decision  of  the  divorce 
court  in  similar  cases.  He  has  a horror  of  such  scandal  and  exposure.  The  more  he 
thinks  over  it,  the  more  does  he  feel  reckless  of  life  and  eager  for  vengeance.  To 
slay  this  man  who  has  stricken  him,  to  kill  himself,  thereby  avoiding  a shameful  death 
01  a lifetime  of  agony,  seems  to  his  morbid  mind  what  it  is  best  for  him  to  do. 

Religion,  moral  principles,  all  forbid  such  action ; but  when  a man,  passionately  in 
love  with  a woman,  finds  that  she  has  betrayed  him,  I fear  that  he  is  wont  at  times  to 
degenerate  into  the  “ wild  barbarian  ” once  more.  The  vehemence  of  passion  tears 
our  thin  veneer  of  culture  and  civilization  to  tatters,  and  the  fierce  innate  desire  of 
man  to  right  his  own  wrongs  with  his  own  right  hand  triumphs  over  the  tardy  retri- 
bution offered  him  by  the  law  courts. 

“ What  reck’d  the  chieftain  if  he  etood 
On  Highland  heath  or  Holy-Rood? 

He  rights  such  wrong  where  It  is  given, 

If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven.” 

And  when  that  woman,  moreover,  is  his  wife,  there  mingles  in  his  mind  some  lega 
justification  for  putting  her  seducer  to  death.  He  has  brooded  over  this  to  such  an 
extent,  that  a brace  of  Derringer  pistols  have  found  their  way  into  one  of  the  drawers 
of  his  writing-table,  and  a small  box  of  cartridges  nestles  beside  them.  Still,  before 
you  shoot  a man  it  is  imperative  to  find  out  where  he  is.  Montague  Gore,  as  yet,  is 
not  only  in  ignorance  of  his  foe’s  whereabouts,  but  also  of  his  veiy  personality.  He 
has  shut  himself  up  ever  since  Cissy  left  him,  — accessible  only  on  business,  — and  has 
as  yet  taken  no  steps  to  trace  the  whereabouts  of  the  fugitives. 


Brooding  on  Vengeance. 


197 


It  was  not  likely  friend?  would  intrude  upon  him  under  the  circumstances.  Honest 
John  Paynter,  it  is  true,  has  called,  but  only  to  be  denied  admittance ; while  his  wife, 
after  her  asseverations  that  memorable  day  in  the  Temple,  naturally  shrinks  from  an 
interview  with  the  stricken  man.  Lizzie,  indeed,  is  too  distressed  and  bewildere  d by 
the  event  to  think  of  talking  about  it  to  Montague  Gore.  She  cannot  understand  it. 
She  could  have  sworn  that  Cissy  loved  her  husband  dearly.  Little  does  she  suspect 
how  that  little  piece  of  coquetry  of  hers  guided  the  march  of  events.  Did  she  but 
know  it,  Mrs.  Paynter  would  have  been  both  sincerely  distressed  and  surprised. 
More  passionless  kiss,  Lizzie  could  have  vouched,  had  never  been  dropped  on 
woman’s  cheek;  but,  like  our  sins  and  the  chickens,  these  illegitimate  kisses  are 
wont  to  come  home  to  roost. 

It  so  happened  that  Mr.  Fox  Brine,  having  conceived  a new  and  brilliant  inspira- 
tion, had  forsworn  society  and  his  usual  haunts  for  some  days,  with  a view  to  working 
it  out.  This,  with  him,  meant  looking  up  sundry  books  of  reference,  making  a great 
many  notes,  and  then  appearing  languidly  once  more  before  his  chums,  and  announc- 
ing, like  Mr.  Winkle,  “ for  fear  of  taking  anybody  by  surprise,  that  he  was  about  to 
begin.”  His  laughter-loving,  literary  associates  always  on  these  occasions  remarked 
that  he  was  looking  ill. 

“ Yes,  I’ve  been  in  for  a good  deal  of  stiff  work  lately;  getting  the  scaffolding 
together,  you  know,”  Mr.  Brine  would  rejoin,  solemnly. 

“ Ah ! I see,”  returned  one  of  that  irreverent  fraternity,  upon  his  reappearance  this 
time ; “ had  another  miscarriage,  poor  fellow ! ” 

Fox  Brine,  though  he  felt  somewhat  angry,  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  joke ; 
besides,  he  knew  well,  to  lose  your  temper  at  a jest  in  Bohemia  is  like  passing  sentence 
of  excommunication  on  yourself.  You  will  be  assuredly  laughed  clear  out  of  that 
vagrant  country.  Still,  in  consequence  of  that  addled  incubation,  this  nesting  of 
eggs  never  destined  to  be  hatched,  Mr.  Brine  had  not  even  heard  of  Mrs.  Gore’s 
elopement  as  yet.  It  was  not  so  far  town-talk ; the  knowledge  of  it  was  confined  only 
to  Montague’s  more  immediate  intimates. 

But  when  intelligence  did  reach  Fox  Brine’s  ear3,  he  posted  off  to  see  his  friend  at 
once.  It  was  getting  high  time  that  Gore  should  see  some  one  to  whom  he  could 
unburthen  himself.  When  a man  passes  his  days  brooding  on  murder,  he  rapidly 
drifts  into  that  morbid  frame  of  mind  in  which  his  ideas  commence  to  take  practical 
shape  concerning  the  achievement  of  it.  Gore  is,  In  fact,  thinking  of  little  else. 
He  sits  for  hours  with  business  papers  spread  out  before  him.  He  reads  the  same 
paragraph  over  and  over  again,  without  the  slightest  comprehension  of  it.  He  dips 
his  pen  in  the  ink,  bites  the  top  of  it  vaguely ; but  the  paper  remains  still  unstained 
before  him.  His  opinion  has  been  called  for  on  more  than  one  case  of  importance, 
but  it  cannot  be  obtained.  He  has  been  sent  for  to  two  or  three  consultations,  but  he, 
usually  so  clear,  lucid,  and  logical,  seems  like  a man  in  a dream,  unable  to  grasp  the 
facts  placed  before  him,  with  nothing  to  say  when  the  affair  has  been  well  talked  over 
by  those  joined  with  them  in  the  suit.  They  shake  their  heads,  these  last,  and 


198 


Two  Kisses. 


prophesy  that  Gore  must  knock  off  work,  or  break  down.  His  domestic  troubles  have 

not  as  yet  reached  the  ears  of  his  confreres  at  the  bar. 

Brine  had  heard  it  through  John  Paynter,  who  shook  his  head  more  sadly  over  it 
than  was  J ohn  Paynter’s  wont  about  grievous  tidings. 

“ Awfully  cut  up,  I’m  afraid,  poor  chap ! he  won’t  see  me  or  any  one,”  he  re- 
marked. 

“ He  shall  see  me,”  returned  Brine ; “ but  who  is  it  ? That  infernal  blackleg,  I 
suppose  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know  his  name,”  replied  John  Paynter,  “ but  it’s  the  fellow  I’ve  seen  her 
walking  with  once  or  twice,  I presume,  — a well  got-up  man,  between  fprty-five  and 
fifty.” 

“ That’s  he,  — Major  Cl&xby  Jenkens.  I,  too,  saw  him  with  her  a few  weeks  back, 
and  saw  him  kiss  her.  I argued  with  myself  for  a day  or  two  whether  to  tell  Mon- 
tague or  not;  but  the  situation  was  so  awkward,  I thought  I’d  best  not  interfere.” 

“Pity  you  didn’t,  perhaps;  still,  I don’t  know.  As  you  say,  it  is  awkward,  very, 
acquiring  such  knowledge.” 

Brine  looked  a little  comically  at  his  companion.  He  didn’t  know,  it  was  true,  a 
very  great  deal  of  Mrs.  Paynter,  but  he  had  heard  that  she  was  a desperate  flirt.  It 
occurred  to  his  whimsical  brain  that  there  might,  perchance,  have  been  an  occasion 
on  which  somebody  might  have  acquired  similar  knowledge  concerning  her.  He 
little  thought  how  true  he  had  hit  the  mark,  or  who  that  somebody  was. 

When  Brine  got  back  to  the  Temple,  he  lost  no  time  in  walking  across  to  his 
friend’s  rooms.  In  answer  to  his  inquiry  for  Mr.  Gore,  the  clerk  hesitated. 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  “ Mr.  Gore  was  in,  but  had  given  strict  orders  that  he  was  not  to 
be  disturbed ; he  was  not  at  home  to  any  one.  Still,  sir,”  continued  the  clerk,  “ 1 
think  he  might,  perhaps,  see  you,”  and  then  he  hesitated.  He,  of  course,  knew 
Brine  well. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” inquired  that  gentleman,  sharply. 

“ The  fact  is,  sir,  Mr.  Gore  doesn’t  seem  quite  himself.  He’s  looking  very  ill,  and 
we  can’t  get  him  to  attend  to  business  as  he  should,  and  as  he  used  to  do.” 

“ So  I’ve  heard ; all  right,  he’ll  see  me ; take  in  my  card,”  and,  by  way  of  prevent- 
ing all  opportunity  of  refusal,  Brine  followed  his  card  closely. 

Montague  Gore  was  seated  at  his  writing-table.  As  the  door  opened,  he  closed  a 
drawer  of  it  sharply,  snatched  up  a pen,  and  then  raised  his  head  angrily.  There 
was  scant  need  of  announcement,  for  Brine  was  in  the  room  as  the  clerk  gave  his 
name,  and  could  not  help  feeling  shocked  as  he  looked  on  his  friend's  haggard  face. 
The  dark  eyes  gleamed  with  feverish  light,  and  the  livid  circles  under  them  told  a 
story  of  mental  suffering,  or  reckless  dissipation. 

Brine  knew  well  it  was  not  the  latter. 

“ Montie,”  he  said,  “ I have  come  to  have  a talk  with  you.” 

“ You’ve  heard  all,  I suppose,”  replied  Gore,  in  slow,  measured  tones,  as  the  door 
tlosed  behind  the  clerk,  — “how  the  woman  I married  ate  my  heart  fi  st,  and  then 


Brooding  on  Vengeance. 


199 


left  me.  Ah ! with  whom  ? — that’s  what  I want  to  know.  I’m  not  quite  myself,  Fox. 
I did  think  of  sending  for  you.  I’m  not  quite  fit  to  manage  this  inquiry  by  myself. 
You  will  do  it  for  me.  No  scandal,  mind,  — quiet,  yes,  keep  it  very  quiet.  Just  his 
name  and  where  he  is,  that  is  all  we  want ; never  mind  her,  though,  of  course,  she’s 
with  him ; but  it  is  he  we  have  to  do  with.  You’ll  have  his  name  and  address  before 
two  days  are  over.  Eh  ? ” 

“ I don’t  suppose  they  will  be  difficult  to  trace.  The  detectives  will,  doubtless 
soon  ascertain  where  they  have  fled  to.  But,  my  dear  Montie,  what  is  it  you  propose 

to  do  ? ” 

“ Boll  him ! ” replied  Gore,  in  a thick,  hoarse  whisper. 

Brine  could  not  repress  a shiver ; if  ever  he  had  conceived  deliberate  murder  hissed 
from  a human  being’s  lips,  he  heard  it  now,  — the  fell  rattle  of  the  cobra  before  its 

spring. 

“ You  cannot,  in  these  days,  — duelling  is  a thing  of  the  past,  remember.” 

“ Pshaw ! who  talked  of  duelling  ? Who  meets  beasts  of  prey  in  a fair  stand-up 
fight?  — we  kill  them  where  we  can,  how  we  can.  Look,”  he  continued,  rising, 
opening  the  drawer,  and  taking  one  of  the  Derringers  from  it,  “ if,  when  he  feels  this 
barrel  pressed  against  his  temples,  he  does  not  blench,  then  I’ll  at  all  events  hold  him 
a man,  though  a felon ; that  like  the  wolf  he  knows  how  to  die ; but  my  finger  will 
not  falter ; never  fear.” 

“ Montie,  my  dear  Montie ! this  is  murder ! ” cried  Brine,  aghast. 

“ What  if  it  is,  sir  ? Do  }Tou  think  I’d  not  rather  have  lain  dead  with  a bullet 
through  my  brain  than  feel  it  throb  as  it  does  this  minute  ? Do  you  think  that  I 
would  not  welcome  death  sooner  than  endure  the  miseiy  I do  now  ? I live  but  for 
one  thing,  henceforth,  — vengeance.  Do  you  suppose  I intend  to  chance  that  on  the 
lottery  of  a duel  ? ” 

Before  this  tirade  was  over,  Brine  had  become  aware  that  Gore  was  scarce  master 
of  himself ; that  reason  tottered  on  her  throne ; that,  at  least,  his  friend  was  pos- 
sessed of  homicidal  mania ; and  that,  but  for  the  fortunate  circumstance  of  his  not 
knowing  who  it  was  that  had  Wronged  him,  a terrible  tragedy  might  have  been  done 
ere  this. 

Very  evident,  indeed,  now,  to  Fox  Brine,  that  Gore  must  be  left  no  longer  to 
himself,  and  it  was  with  bitter  hatred  he  thought  of  this  woman,  all  worthless  as  he 
deemed  her,  that  had  supplanted  the  memory  of  his  dead  sister. 

It  is  singular,  at  times,  how  averse  the  relations  of  a man’s  first  wife  are  to  his 
marrying  again.  They  resent  it  fiercely,  although  with  no  valid  reason  to  allege 
against  his  doing  so.  He  took  a daughter  of  their  clan,  and  had  no  business  ever  to 
forget  the  honor  the  family  did  him  when  they  received  him  into  their  bosom.  That 
he  should  renew  the  nuptial  tie  elsewhere  they  deem  an  affront,  and  are  wont  to  be 
highly  prophetic  in  boding  no  good  will  come  of  it. 

He  would  have  admitted  it  to  no  man  living ; but  there  was  a strong  tinge  of  this 
feeling  in  the  dislike  that  Brine  had  conceived  for  Cissy  at  their  first  meeting.  In  his 


200 


Two  Kisses. 

inmost  heart  1 . Hsliked  the  woman  who  had  induced  Gore  to  forget  his  dead  fiancie. 
He,  Fox,  had  been  much  attached  to  her,  and  the  tragic  mode  of  her  death  had 
invested  her  memory  with  almost  heroic  attributes  in  his  eyes. 

He  was  bit  a boy  of  eighteen  when  the  catastrophe  took  place,  and  it  had  made  a 
terrible  impression  on  his  boyish  mind.  We  recollect  so  vividly  the  trials  that  occur 
to  us  in  those  days.  He  could  recall  the  fair  face,  blanched  and  drawn  with  pain, 
although  its  loveliness  had  not  been  impaired  by  the  fire-demon;  the  fearful  ravages 
he  had  wrought  had  been  confined  to  her  body.  He  recollected  Montague  Gore 
bowed  down  with  grief  by  that  painful  death-bed.  Man  of  the  world  as  he  was,  he 
could  not  but  feel  it  a species  of  sacrilege  that  Gore  should  ever  forget  her  who  bade 
him  so  sweet  and  touching  a farewell. 

But  it  is  not  given  to  most  men  to  sorrow  for  their  dead  till  their  lives  be  run, 
and  no  one  could  accuse  Gore  of  forgetting  his  dead  love  lightly.  Ten  years  had 
passed  before  he  thought  of  gaining  a woman’s  good  grace  again.  Better  he  had 
never  dreamed  such  a dream,  think  both  he  and  Brine  now,  seeing  what  has  come  of 
this  second  venture. 

! “ Montie,  old  fellow,”  said  Brine,  gently,  at  last,  “you  are  not  quite  yourself,  and 
must  allow  me  to  act  for  you  in  this  business.  Of  course,  the  first  thing  is  to  ascer- 
tain where  they  have  gone ; that  done,  we  must  consider  what  next  to  do.” 

“ It  doesn’t  require  much  consideration,”  returned  Gore,  in  those  low,  passionate 
tones,  which  are  to  shrill,  querulous  exasperation  as  blue  lurid,  forked  lightning  to 
the  gaudy  blazonry  that  lights  the  sky  in  August.  “ He  must  die.” 

“ That,”  said  Brine,  M must  be  as  I shall  determine.  I have  no  fancy  to  see  you 
sxpiate  the  murder  of  the  accomplice  of  a worthless  woman  on  the  scaffold.” 

“ Who  dares  say  she  is  worthless  ? ” cried  Gore,  fiercely ; loyal  in  his  love  still,  no 
one  but  himself  should  traduce  Cissy  in  his  hearing.  “ She  has  fallen  before  the 
cunning  wiles  of  some  early  acquaintance.  Some  scoundrel,  perhaps,  with  a hold 
over  her  that  we  little  dream.  Think  what  a life  she  led  in  her  old  days.  My  God ! ” 
he  continued,  passionately,  “ if  she  could  have  trusted  in  me ! ” 

“ Don’t  deceive  yourself  in  that  fashion,”  replied  Brine.  “ I am  afraid  you  will 
find  that  Mrs.  Gore  is  a woman  not  worth  fighting  about.  Better  trust  to  the  more 
simple  remedy  of  the  divorce  court,  and  be  free  of  her,  believe  me.” 

“We  will  think  about  what  is  to  be  done  with  her  afterwards.  Your  first  business, 
remember,  is  to  bring  me  face  to  face  with  this  man.” 

“ My  first  business,”  thought  Mr.  Brine,  rapidly,  “ is  to  see  that  you  do  not,  at 
present,  obtain  the  slightest  clue  to  who  he  is.”  ; . I 

“ Very  well,”  rejoined  Brine,  “ as  soon  as  we  have  made  that  out,  we  will  hav© 
another  talk  about  it.  Meanwhile,  Montie,  let  me  take  charge  of  those  pistols.” 

Gore  gazed  steadily  at  him  for  a moment. 

“You  think  I would  use  them  against  myself?”  he  replied,  quietly,  at  last. 
u Have  no  fear  of  that  at  present,  Fox.  I have  a good  deal  to  do  before  it  will  occur 
to  me  to  die  by  my  own  hand.” 


At  Brompton  -super-Mare, 


201 


But  in  spite  oi  thif  calm  assurance,  his  dark  eves  glittered  with,  if  not  incipient 
madnt  js,  what  might  well  pass  as  such,  and  Brine  felt  that  there  was  no  one  in  Lon- 
don less  fitted  to  be  trusted  with  loaded  pistols  than  his  friend  at  this  moment.  But  it 
was  useless  to  argue.  The  duplicity  of  madmen  is  proverbial,  and  Brine  saw  at  once 
that  possession  of  those  pistols  could  only  be  accomplished  by  stratagem.  He  knew 
he  had  a man  verging  on  delirium  to  deal  with.  Best  to  get  him  home  just  now,  and 
see  what  a doctor  could  make  of  him. 

“Wants  a pretty  stiff  opiate,  I should  think,  to  begin  with,  and  a good  deal  of 
medical  supervision  to  follow,”  mused  Fox.  “ Come  along  home,  old  fellow ; I’m  going 
to  tak<;  my  chances  of  some  dinner  with  you  to-night.” 

“ Yes,  all  right ; but  you  must  not  linger  over  the  claret,  you  know.  You’ve  heaps 
of  people  to  see.  We  must  know  where  they  are  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  at 
latest,”  and  Montague  drew  on  his  gloves  with  feverish  impatience. 

A clever  physician,  well-known  to  both  of  them,  dropped  in  as  they  sat  over  theii 
wine,  thanks  to  a note  from  Fox  Brine,  and,  when  Gore  sought  his  pillow,  he  had 
swallowed  a powerful  narcotic,  of  which  he  little  dreamed. 

“ Trembling  on  the  verge  of  brain  fever,”  said  the  doctor,  as  he  said  good-night  to 
Brine  in  the  hall.  “ Mind  he’s  carefully  watched,  and  I’ll  be  round  again  the  first 
thing  to-morrow.  The  morphia  may  save  it,  but  it’s  just  as  likely  to  aggravate 
matters  as  not.  Of  course,  if  it  fails  to  produce  sleep,  he’d  better  not  have  had  it.  It’s 
the  card  to  play,  but  I’m  not  very  sanguine  of  its  being  successful.” 

Brine  threw  himself  on  a sofa,  but  before  the  sun  rose  he  was  called  to  his  friend’s 
bedside.  Small  doubt  about  Montague  Gore’s  madness  now. 


Brompton-super-Mare  was,  after  the  manner  of  all  watering-places,  a little  town 
wonderfully  impressed  with  the  idea  of  its  own  importance.  It  was  a part  of  the  creed 
of  Brompton-super-Mare  that  you  nowhere  beheld  so  fine  a sea,  that  no  beach  in 
England  bore  comparison  with  theirs.  That  they  were  fashionable  and  aristocratic  it 
is  needless  to  mention;  no  watering-place  of  the  smallest  pretensions  was  ever 
otherwise. 

If  cynical  visitors  hinted  there  seemed  a good  many  strange  people  about,  or  that 
there  appeared  to  be  a good  many  bills  of  apartments  to  let  up  in  its  windows, 
Brompton-super-Mare  replied  contemptuously  that  it  wasn’t  the  season.  It  did  not 
signify  what  the  time  of  year  might  be,  they  made  the  same  answer.  The  inhabitants 
believed  firmly  that  they  were  thronged  with  fashionables  when  that  happy  period 
arrived.  If  the  place  was  empty,  or  full  of  those  w ao  could  be  scarcely  called  of 


CHAPTER  XXXVH 


AT  BROMPTON-SUPER-MARE . 


202 


Two  Kisses. 


society’s  Hite,  then  it  was  obvious  it  was  not  the  seasc  n,  which  you  were  assured  was 
just  over  or  just  about  to  commence. 

Brompton-super-Mare,  when  it  did  find  a titled  visitor  within  its  clutch,  made  the 
most  of  him.  The  Brompton-super-Mare  “ Gazette  ” served  him  up  to  breakfast  with 
the  prawns  every  morning : “ Arrival  of  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Dashborough,” 
on  Monday;  account  of  His  Grace’s  family,  on  Tuesday.  It  d»'d  his  seats  or 
“ ancestral  towers  ” — rather  fond  of-that  phrase  the  “ Gazette  ” — when  it  got  an  oppor- 
tunity ; the  next  day  some  few  episodes  in  his  life  followed,  if  with  just  a suspicion  of 
scandal  about  them  so  much  the  better,  and  so  things  continued  till  the  “ Gazette  ” 
pronounced  an  oration  on  his  departure,  as  is  done  over  the  departure  for  the  next 
world  of  a celebrity  in  Paris.  Of  course  the  place  had  its  promenade  by  the  sea. 
where  people  passed  and  repassed,  till  they  entertained  considerable  doubts  as  to 
whether  they  did  not  know  each  other  intimately  ; where  shy  people  made  feeble  but 
elaborate  parade  of  really  being  off  on  business  of  importance,  as  if  it  was  possible  to 
have  business  of  importance  at  Brompton-super-Mare. 

The  place  had  two  vocations,  — to  idle  and  to  ascertain  the  affairs  of  it3  neighbors; 
so  important  was  the  latter  of  these  avocations,  that  the  first  had  at  times  to  give  way 
to  it,  and  Brompton-super-Mare  worked  harder  than  would  be  credited. 

The  appearance  of  a stranger,  as  may  be  supposed,  attracted  immediate  attention ; 
the  residents,  of  course,  all  knew  each  other  by  sight.  A strange  face,  if  in  the  least 
attractive,  became  at  once  a matter  of  curiosity,  and  its  owner  had  not  to  take  many 
turns  on  the  promenade  before  Brompton-super-Mare  was  diligently  seeking  his  or 
her  name.  A stay  of  a few  days,  and  it  became  imperative  that  the  inhabitants  should 
know  the  previous  history  of  the  new-comer  as  far  as  possible.  It  may  easily  be 
imagined  that  the  appearance  of  so  striking  a figure  as  Cissy  Gore  set  Brompton- 
super-Mare  all  agog.  A handsome  woman,  richly  dressed,  and  utterly  unattended,  — 
here,  indeed,  was  food  for  speculation.  Who  was  she  ? 

It  did  not  take  the  little  place  long  to  arrive  at  her  name,  and  the  fact  that  she  had 
taken  lodgings  for  a month  or  so  in  Denbigh  Terrace ; but  further  there  was  nothing 
to  be  learned  concerning  her.  She  lived  very  quietly,  and  was  rather  given  to  keep 
her  veil  down  when  out  walking.  Cissy  might  have  remained  a mystery  to  Bromp- 
ton-super-Mare for  a considerable  time  but  for  one  thing,  — she  had  communicated 
her  address  to  her  father,  and  in  an  ill-advised  moment  the  major  determined  to  run 
down  and  see  her. 

A few  mornings  more,  and  the  watering-place  was  astonished  to  find  Mrs.  Gore 
continually  promenading  with  a strange  gentleman,  — not  her  husband,  was  speedily 
ascertained,  for  he  did  not  live  with  her,  and  was  staying,  indeed,  at  the  Royal 
Hotel.  Brompf  :>n-super-Mare  felt  there  was  something  wrong,  and  it  behoved  them 
to  ascertain  the  truth  of  it. 

The  hot  weather  and  the  dead  season  in  London  scatter  the  habitues  of  the  clubs  in. 
all  directions.  To  many  of  these  the  loss  of  their  accustomed  lounge  is  a sore  depri- 
vation. They  do  not  shoot ; they  don’t  care  about  the  Rhine  or  Switzerland,  still  they 


At  Brompton- super-Mare.  203 

must  go  somewhere ; they  hate  the  country,  even  if  they  are  lucky  enough  to  have 
free  quarters  awaiting  them.  They  are  essentially  club-men.  Banished  by  painting, 
cleaning,  or  it  may  be  only  custom,  from  their  accustomed  haunts,  such  usually  seek 
the  nearest  approach  to  their  elysium.  The  watering-place  presents  this,  and  also 
usually  extends  the  attraction  of  a small  club,  not  difficult  to  join  temporarily  for  a 
man  accredited  from  any  one  of  the  London  establishments.  Colonel  Prawn  had 
selected  Brompton-super-Mare  in  which  to  pass  his  six  weeks  of  exile.  He,  of  course 
got  himself  elected  to  the  club  there  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  became  at  one 
au  courant  with  all  the  gossip  of  the  place. 

We  have  heard  this  gentleman  before  express  opinions  strongly  unfavorable  to  the 
major.  lie  was  little  likely  to  hold  his  tongue  now.  He  knew  certainly  nothing  very 
tangible  about  Claxby  Jenkens,  though  there  were  ugly  rumors  afloat  concerning 
him  in  the  London  world,  with  regard  to  play-affairs  and  other  over-sharp  trans- 
actions,— quite  pegs  enough  for  the  colonel  to  hang  his  innuendoes  upon. 

He  detested  the  major,  and  whispered  quite  enough  concerning  him  to  make 
Brompton-super-Mare  regard  him  as  possessed  of  a very  tainted  reputation  indeed, 
albeit  he  had  always  just  contrived  to  escape  being  kicked  out  of  society  altogether. 

To  Colonel  Prawn  the  mystery  of  Mrs.  Gore  was  intensely  exciting,  and  he  penned 
letters  to  all  the  scandal-mongers  of  his  acquaintance  concerning  her. 

“ Doosid  handsome  woman,  by  Jove ! What  could  have  made  her  take  up  with 
such  an  old  reprobate  as  Jenkens  ? ” 

The  colonel  was  at  least  half-a-dozen  years  older  than  the  subject  of  his  abuse,  and 
by  no  means  as  well  preserved,  looking  his  age  eveiy  day,  which  the  major  certainly 
did  not.  But  we  never  do  see  the  encroachments  of  the  fatal  scythe-bearer  on 
ourselves,  keenly  as  we  note  them  on  our  contemporaries. 

If  Gore  was  not  a man  of  mark  as  yet,  he  was  at  all  events  in  very  good  practice, 
and  looked  upon  as  likely  to  become  so  in  his  profession  before  many  years  were  over. 
Hi3  sudden  disppearance  from  work  just  before  the  long  vacation,  at  a time  when 
professional  men  find  it  all  but  impossible  to  get  through  their  engagements,  attracted 
attention.  Then  it  oozed  out  that  he  was  very  ill. 

Two  or  three  intimate  friends  not  only  called,  but  asked  if  it  was  possible  to  see 
Mrs.  Gore  for  a few  minutes.  They  were  informed  thas  she  was  not  there,  and  that 
the  master  of  the  house  was  down  with  brain  fever.  Strange  that  a wife  should  be 
absent  from  her  husband’s  bedside  at  such  a time  ! There  were  too  many  conversant 
with  the  real  state  of  the  case  for  the  affair  to  remain  a secret  long,  and,  ere  many 
days  were  over,  it  was  whispered  about  that  Mrs  Gore  had  fled  from  her  husband’s 
roof ; but  with  whom  was  still  a question.  In  due  course  this  intelligence  reached 
the  ear3  of  one  of  Colonel  Prawn’s  correspondents,  who  immediately  imparted  it  to 
that  gallant  officer. 

“ Wheugh ! ” ejaculated  the  colonel,  as  he  perused  his  letter.  “ A handsome  woma* 
like  that,  and  actually  bolted  with  old  Jenkens ! Well,  she  might  have  done  better, 
Q&P  would  think  5 ” and  that  improper  old  warrior  pulled  up  his  shirt-collar,  winked 


204 


Two  Kisses. 


at  himself  in  the  glass  with  a bloodshot  eye,  and  looked  altogether  a very  fit  mode* 
for  Silent!  s 

Here  wa s a dainty  bonbon  to  take  down  to  the  club.  For  one  day  at  least,  Colonel 
Prawn  meant  to  be  the  lion  of  that  establishment.  Although  his  correspondent’s 
information  was  of  the  briefest,  and  he  owned  he  had  no  notion  of  who  was  the  part- 
ner of  Mrs.  Gore’s  flight,  yet  the  colonel  felt  he  knew  all  the  particulars,  and  could 
supply  the  smallest  details  from  the  stores  of  his  imagination. 

He  certainly  had  fair  grounds  for  suspicion,  but  it  might  have  struck  him  as  sin- 
gular that  having  eloped  together  they  should  be  living  apart.  Little  likely,  though, 
that  the  colonel,  with  such  a tit-bit  of  scandal  to  communicate,  should  sift  the  truth 
of  it  very  closely. 

Before  the  sun  went  down,  Brompton-super-Mare  was  aware  that  the  purity  of  its 
promenade  was  sullied  by  the  presence  of  a runaway  wife  and  her  paramour ; Bromp- 
ton-super-Mare felt,  truth  to  tell,  a little  relieved.  It  had  been  so  convinced  that  there 
was  something  wrong  about  that  Mrs.  Gore,  it  was  quite  comforting  to  know  at  last 
what  it  was,  though  it  couldn’t  well  be  worse. 

As  old  Mrs.  Mufflington  remarked  to  her  special  crony,  Miss  Vilejuice : — 

“ I always  said,  my  dear,  that  there  was  more  brazenry  than  beauty  about  that 
woman.” 

Cissy,  with  her  frank,  free  carriage  to  be  accused  of  brazenry ! Cissy,  with  her 
pride  so  cruelly  wounded  by  what  she  deems  the  discovery  of  her  husband’s  perfidy ! 
Cissy,  who  has  awoke  to  her  passionate  love  for  her  husband  only  to  see  how  she  has 
thrown  her  heart  away ! What  will  she  say  when  this  shall  come  to  her  ears  ? — when 
she  shall  find  that  the  world  holds  her  a degraded,  worthless  woman,  false  to  the  vows 
she  took  upon  herself  but  a few  months  back  ? Cissy  has  got  a lesson  to  learn,  to  wit, 
that  it  takes  a marvellous  short  time  for  a woman  to  lose  a reputation. 

Cissy  was  extremely  miserable,  she  yearned  so  for  tidings  of  that  husband  she  had 
deserted.  She  knew  now  how  very  dear  he  was  to  her,  and  though  he  had  wronged 
her  grievously,  still  she  could  not  but  love  him.  Her  father,  too,  had  somewhat  stag- 
gered Cissy  in  her  justification  of  the  line  of  conduct  she  had  thought  proper  to 
pursue. 

The  major — after  hearing  as  much  of  her  story  as  she  thought  fit  to  disclose,  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  tell  him  the  exact  grounds  of  her  jealousy — shook  his  headv 
and  hoped  she  had  not  been  hasty. 

“ It  would  have  been  better*  I think,  Cissy,  to  have  had  some  talk  with  your  hue* 
band  first.” 

“ Impossible !”  she  replied;  ‘‘lie  could  not  deny  his  infidelity;  to  discuss  such  a 
subject  could  only  be  painful  to  both  of  us.  I could  have  forgiven  him  all,  if  he  had 
not  taught  me  to  love  him,”  she  concluded,  in  a low  murmur. 

Fox  Brine  had  taken  complete  charge  of  his  friend  and  his  affairs,  and  no  sooner 
had  he  procured  satisfactory  nurses,  and  seen  that  all  the  appliances  of  the  sick-room 
were  in  thorough  working  order,  than  he  determined  that  the  next  thing  was  to 


At  Brompton-super-Mare . 


205 


tain  what  had  become  of  Mis.  Gore.  Nothing  could  be  easier;  so  little  mystery  had 
Cissy  made  of  her  elopement  that  she  had  even  taken  her  maid  with  her ; the  maid 
had  since  written  to  her  fellow-servants,  and  therefore  it  was  known  amongst  the 
household  that  their  mistress  was  at  Brompton-super-Mare.  Much  as  he  mistrusted 
Cissy,  still  Brine  did  feel  that  this  sounded  hopeful.  “ It  may  be  only  some  misun- 
derstanding, after  all,”  he  muttered ; “ of  course  she’s  been  foolish,  but  perhaps  not 
criminal.  Confound  it ! a woman  don’t  elope  so  publicly  as  she  seems  to  ,^ave  done. 
As  for  poor,  dear  Montie,  the  doctors  say  the  fever  must  run  its  course ; he’s  likely  to 
be  some  days  yet  before  he  comes  to  himself.  I wonder  whether  Mrs.  Gore  knows 
how  ill  he  is.  Hang  me  if  I don’t  run  down  to  Brompton-super-Mare,  and,  subject  to 
circumstances,  tell  her.” 

Having  come  to  this  decision,  Brine  lost  no  time  in  carrying  it  out.  Brompton- 
super-Mare  was  barely  two  hours  from  London ; a little  more  than  three  and  Brine  was 
safely  deposited  thereat.  Mrs.  Gore’s  address  was  easily  attainable,  and  Fox  Brine 
was  speedily  on  his  way  to  Denbigh  Terrace.  Mrs.  Gore  was  out,  but  would  be  in  to 
luncheon.  Would  the  gentleman  leave  his  card  ? No ; but  he  would  call  again. 

To  kill  time,  Brine  turned  on  to  the  promenade,  and,  before  he  reached  its  end, 
encountered  the  lady  he  had  come  to  see,  escorted  by  Claxby  Jenkens. 

Cissy  bowed  as  they  passed,  and  felt  her  cheeks  tingle,  as  she  marked  the  stiff,  curt 
recognition  with  which  Brine  returned  her  salute.  She  saw  now,  how  her  husband’s 
friends  regarded  her  conduct,  clearly.  She  was  prepared  for  it.  She  knew  too  well 
that  in  cases  of  separation  each  side  has  its  own  partisans.  She  was  too  proud  also  to 
make  her  story  public  in  her  own  justification,  and  therefore  quite  resigned  to  have 
society’s  verdict  registered  against  her. 

As  for  Fox  Brine,  with  a stifled  implication,  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  back  to 
town,  believing  the  worst  possible  things  concerning  Mrs.  Gore  and  her  proceedings. 

It  so  happened  the  major  followed  his  example  the  next  day ; his  numerous  schemes 
requiring  the  master-hand  to  keep  them  going. 

Forty-eight  hours  after,  Mrs.  Gore  received  the  following  note  : — 

“ 6 Charles  street, 

“Wednesday. 

u Dear  Cissy,  — Your  husband  is  very  seriously  ill,  and  has  been  for  about  a week 
Is  your  quarrel  such  that  it  forbids  you  to  go  to  him  now  ? Mind,  he  is  in  danger ; 1 

know  for  certain. 

“ Ever  youi  affectionate  father, 

“ Claxby  Jenkens.” 

“ Montague  ill ! Montague  in  danger  and  I here ! God  forgive  me ! ” cried  Cissy, 
passionately,  as  the  tears  welled  into  her  eyes.  “Justine,  I am  going  to  town  by  th<l 
ppxt  train.  You  will  wait  here  till  I write  you  word  what  to  do.” 


206 


Two  Kisses , 


CHAPTER  XXXVTO. 

COLEMAN’S. 

Captain  Detfield,  the  last  few  weeks,  has  been  going  through  all  the  last  agoniet 
that  prelude  the  final  crash.  Legal  intimation  has  been  given  him  several  times  that, 
unless  he  pays  divers  sums  forthwith,  further  proceedings  will  be  immediately  taken 
against  him.  Further  proceedings  have  been  taken,  which  seem  to  lead  to  yet  further 
operations  to  his  detriment.  He  is  summoned,  threatened,  cited,  and  finally  informed 
that,  in  default  of  his  putting  in  an  appearance,  judgment  for  execution  and  costs  has 
been  given  against  him  for  £947  17s.  6<f.,  at  the  suit  of  Simon  Simmonds;  and  that 
if  the  aforesaid  sum  is  not  paid  within  eight  days  he  will  be  committed  to  prison  for 
contempt  of  court. 

“As  my  raising  a thousand  pounds  is  about  as  practicable  as  flying,  I am  afraid  I 
shall  have  to  incur  the  penalty,”  mused  Charlie.  “ Legal  fiction,  I presume,  or  else  I 
don’t  see  the  use  of  a court  of  law  ordering  you  to  do  what  it  is  clearly  manifest  you 
are  incapable  of  doing.  That  villain  Simmonds  holds  another  bill,  too,  which,  though 
it  originally  represented  £300,  will,  I presume,  cost  six  before  he  would  part  with  it. 

I wonder  what  would  put  me  square ; take  about  five  thousand,  I suppose.  Well,  I’ve 
been  a fool,  and  must  pay  for  it.  Comes  hard,  too,  just  now.  Poor  Bessie,  — i had  no 
business  to  speak  to  her.” 

Detfield  understands  thoroughly  that  a few  day3  more  and  he  is  tolerable  certain  to 
be  arrested.  He  has  procured  leave ; and  yet,  instead  of  placing  his  affairs  in  tho 
hands  of  a man  of  business,  making  the  necessary  arrangementsdor  leaving  his  regi- 
ment, and  then  betaking  himself  to  the  Continent,  or  some  other  obscurity,  till  such 
time  as  his  friends  can  come  to  some  sort  of  terms  with  his  creditors,  he  still  hangs  on 
in  London. 

He  cannot  tear  himself  away  from  Bessie  Stanbury.  He  argues  he  has  still  four 
more  days  left ; and  so  he  continues  to  pass  all  his  afternoons  at  Roseneath  House.  ‘ 
The  ladies  there  have  unanimously  elevated  him  to  the  rank  of  a martyr ; and  not  1 
only  is  this  graceless  spendthrift  petted  by  his  fiancte>  but  even  Miss  Matilda  thinks  it 
necessaiy  to  make  much  of  him. 

Very  angry  is  Miss  Matilda  with  Roxby  for  refusing  his  consent  to  her  niece’s  ■ 
marriage;  that  he  supported  his  decisiou  by  irrefutable  arguments  only  made  that 
lady  still  more  wrathful. 

“As  if  a woman’s  instinct  wasn’t  worth  more  than  a man’s  reasoning,”  quoth  Miss 
Matilda.  “ But  I have  not  quite  done  with  Mr.  Roxby  yet ; ” and  here  the  good  lady 
would  shake  her  head,  and  look  so  very  mysterious,  that  Aunt  Clem  and  Bessie 
entertained  shadowy  hopes  that  Miss  Matilda  had  some  subtle  design  in  the  back  - 
ground, destined  % o cover  the  inflexible  Roxby  with  confusion. 


Coleman's, 


207 


As  may  be  supposed  Miss  Matilda  had  sought  an  explanation  concerning  the 
accusation  Bessie  had  hurled  at  Roxby  in  that  memorable  interview  of  a week  ago ; 
and  the  girl  had  told  her  aunt  frankly  what  had  taken  place  between  that  gentleman 
\nd  Charlie : how  that  his  consent  might  have  been  easily  purchased  had  Charlie 
been  as  great  a scoundrel  as  himself ; how  the  two  had  quarrelled  over  the  rascally 
proposition ; and  how  Charlie  had  told  Mr.  Roxby,  in  the  plainest  possible  language 
vhat  he  thought  of  him. 

Miss  Matilda’s  amazement  knew  no  bounds ; that  the  decorous,  respectable  Roxby 
hould  turn  out  such  an  unscrupulous  villain ; that  his  specious  arguments  should  be 
dl  a sham,  and  that  his  ward’s  hand  was  simply  for  sale  as  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
locked  Miss  Matilda  greatly.  She  wrote  Mr.  Roxby  a most  severe  letter  on  the 
subject,  in  which  she  pronounced  him  unworthy  of  the  trust  reposed  in  him. 

Mr.  Roxby  took  no  manner  of  notice  of  this  epistle.  Henceforth,  Miss  Matilda,  as 
before  said,  gave  vent  to  mysterious  hints  about  “ not  being  quite  done  with  Mr. 
Roxby.”  On  two  points  the  ladies  were  unanimous : that  Roxby  was  a monster,  and 
that  Charlie  Detfield  had  behaved  most  nobly. 

Poor  Charlie ! — he  had  only  acted  according  to  his  training,  and  behaved  like  a 
gentleman ; but  how  the  women  who  love  us  can  glorify  our  most  simple  actions. 

The  blow  so  long  expected  descends  at  last.  Charlie  Detfield  has  not  got  fifty 
yards  from  his  rooms  one  morning,  when  he  feels  a hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Turn- 
ing sharply  to  confront  his  assailant,  he  find  himself  face  to  face  with  a shiny-hatted, 
slovenly-dressed  man,  who  carries  his  calling  impressed  legibly  on  his  countenance. 
No  necessity  for  his  gruff  “ Prisoner,  captaing,”  to  tell  Detfield  what  he  is.  He 
grimly  exhibits  a strip  of  parchment,  and  then  says,  sententiously : — 

“ Cab,  of  course,  captaing  ? ” 

Detfield  nods,  and  his  taciturn  captor  hails  a passing  four-wheeler,  in  which  they 
place  themselves. 

“’Spose  you’ll  go  to  Coleman’s?  — they  mostly  does,”  lemarked  the  officer,  in  an 
abstracted  manner,  as  if  wearied  of  speculating  where  they  went  to,  after  his  villain 
hand  had  once  been  laid  upon  them. 

What  Coleman’s  might  be,  Detfield  did  not  altogether  understand;  but  he  con- 
ceived it  were  as  well  to  leave  his  destination  to  his  captor  for  the  present. 

The  cab,  meanwhile,  rumbled  along  slowly  eastwards,  and,  after  a drive  of  some- 
thing over  half  an  hour,  stopped  in  a narrow,  dingy  street,  somewhere  off  Ilolborn. 
Here  the  officer  got  out,  rang  at  a low  door-way,  and  called  upon  Detfield  to  follow 
him.  Charlie  eyed  the  house  with  unmitigated  disgust:  a tall,  mildewed-looking 
building  that  had  not  been  touched  by  the  painter  for  veiy  many  years ; the  windows, 
lx),  appeared  to  be  equally  innocent  of  soap  and  water  for  a similar  period ; one 
peculiarity  about  them  was,  they  were  all  barred.  But  here  the  opening  of  the  door 
cut  short*  further  criticism  on  the  exterior  of  Coleman’s,  and  Charlie  followed  his  guide 
up  a narrow  staircase,  hearing  the  ominous  clang  of  the  massive  lock  behind  him  M 
he  did  so. 


14 


208 


Two  Kisses. 


Arrived  at  the  first  floor,  his  guide  threw  open  the  door  of  a good-sized,  but  dingy 
fitting-room,  and,  muttering  something  to  the  effect  that  Coleman  would  be  there 
directly,  withdrew. 

Thus  left  to  himself,  Charlie  began  to  take  stock  of  the  apartment.  A dingy 
picture  of  the  bay  of  Naples  hung  over  the  fireplace,  and  four  or  five  old  coaching 
prints,  yellow  with  age,  and  stained  with  smoke  and  dirt,  decorated  the  walls.  In 
the  centre  of  the  room  was  an  infirm  loo-table,  upon  which  lay  a newspaper  and  two 
or  three  dog’s-eared  volumes.  On  either  side  of  the  fireplace  was  an  arm-chair, 
covered  with  torn  and  soiled  Utrecht  velvet,  the  original  color  of  which  it  was  very 
hard  now  to  determine.  Some  half-dozen  chairs  of  various  patterns  and  in  varying 
stages  of  decay  were  placed  primly  against  the  walls. 

A bloated,  dropsical  sideboard,  whose  polish  was  considerably  impaired  by  its 
dissipated  life,  and  a huge  sofa,  originally,  it  may  be  presumed,  part  of  the  same  suite 
as  the  arm-chairs,  but  looking,  if  possible,  still  more  dirty  and  dilapidated,  consti- 
tuted the  remainder  of  the  furniture.  Anything  more  depressingly  dingy  and  mouldy 
than  this  apartment  it  was  scarce  possible  to  conceive.  Yet  this  was  known  as  “ the 
saloon,”  in  Coleman’s,  and  the  privilege  of  using  it  was  rated  at  about  the  price  you 
would  pay  for  a good  sitting-room  at  the  Grosvenor  or  Langham. 

By  this  time  Charlie  had  discovered  he  was  not  alone.  Stretched  on  the  sofa  was  a 
plump,  clean-shaved  little  man,  who  was  regarding  him  out  of  a pair  of  quick,  beady, 
black  eyes,  with  no  little  curiosity. 

“ Servant,  sir ! ” exclaimed  the  little  man  at  last,  bringing  himself  into  a sitting 
position.  “ Our  friend  Coleman’s  is  not  exactly  the  sort  of  house  to  bid  a gentleman 
welcome  to;  our  friend  Coleman  being,  between  ourselves,  about  as  filthy  and 
extortionate  a beast  as  ever  I came  across.  Lord ! to  play  the  game  of  Tommy  Dodd 
to  perfection,  you  should  have  your  fellow-creatures  under  lock  and  key.  No  com- 
petition. You  sells  ’em  an  imitation  of  what  they  want  at  your  own  price.  If  Cole- 
man aint  made  his  fortune,  then  Coleman  gambles,  — that’s  what’s  the  matter.” 

Although  Charlie  was  by  no  means  in  the  best  of  spirits,  he  could  not  resist  smiling 
at  the  little  man’s  pettish  outbreak  against  his  janitor. 

“ Have  you  been  here  long  ? ” he  inquired  courteously. 

“ About  a week.  I am  here  because  I won’t  be  put  upon.  Here  have  I been  deal- ' 
mg  with  old  Chowner,  of  Birmingham,  for  fancy  goods,  the  last  three  years,  and 
blest  if  he  didn’t  refuse  me  a little  time,  though  I told  him  I’d  had  a bad  season 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  young  man  ? ” inquired  the  stout  little  gentleman, 
sharply. 

“Well,”  replied  Charlie,  who  had  a vague  idea  that  a man  who  refuses  tune 
regarding  the  payment  of  a debt  must  be  in  the  wrong,  “ it  sounds  hard,  — yes, 
devilish  hard ! ” • 

“ Of  course  it  was,”  continued  the  little  man,  excitedly ; “ it  was  disgraceful . i If 
you  don’t  pay  I’ll  sell  you  up,  sure  as  my  name’s  Chowner,*  says  he.  ‘ Only  be  selling 
your  own  property,’  6ays  I5  * and  it  won’t  fetch  half  as  much  as  if  I do  it,’  WeH* 


Coleman's. 


both  stuck  to  our  words.  I didn’t  pay,  he  sold  me  up,  and  here  I am  for  the  valance 

and  costs.”  |8  \ 

Here  their  conversation  was  inteiTupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  proprietor  of  the 
den.  Mr.  Coleman  was  not  a prepossessing  gentleman  in  appearance  by  any  manner 
of  means.  His  physiognomy  was  unmistakably  Jewish.  His  attire,  like  his  furni 
ture,  was  tawdry  and  somewhat  stained.  He  was  great  in  the  matter  of  velvet  collar 
and  waistcoat,  and  wore  a diamond  ring  or  two  on  his  dirty  fingers ; a very  shiny 
hat,  very  much  curled  in  the  brim,  gave  a finish  to  his  attire.  Coleman’s  principle 
was  very  simple.  As  long  as  his  lodgers  had  money,  it  was,  of  course,  his  interest  to 
detain  them  at  his  house  as  long  as  possible.  Their  money  gone,  Coleman  felt  he 
could  not  be  rid  of  them  too  quickly. 

But  he  comes  forward  with  an  obsequious  smile  to  confer  with  Detfield,  and  speedily 
arranges  to  let  him  what  Mr.  Coleman  designates  as  “ a bedroom  fit  for  a lord,  s’help 
me,”  and  the  use  of  the  saloon  for  a sum  that  would  have  caused  astonishment  at  a 
West  End  hotel. 

“ Now,  then,  capting,  I dessay  you’d  like  to  send  for  your  traps.  We’ve  a trust- 
worthy messenger  on  the  premises.  Just  a line,  perhaps,  to  your  solicitor,  — it’s  the 
usual  thing.  Blesh  you,  you’ll  find  yourself  as  right  as  ninepence  to-morrow.  Any- 
thing we  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Turbottle,  this  evening  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Coleman,  you  can.  I’ll  trouble  you  to  select  a considerable  younger  chicken 
for  my  dinner  than  I had  last  night.  I should  think  you  brought  that  bird  with  you 
when  you  first  came  here.” 

" Ah ! I can’t  think,  s’help  me,  how  that  happened.  So  particular  as  Mrs.  Coleman 
is,  too.  You’ll,  of  course,  have  a bit  of  dinner,  capting.  I’ll  go  and  see  about  it ; ” 
and  so  saying,  Mr.  Coleman  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room. 

Detfield  sat  down  and  wrote  a letter.  It  was  not  to  a solicitor ; he  had  accom- 
plished his  entanglements  all  unaided  of  that  profession,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  a lawyer  might  be  useful  in  putting  his  liabilities  at  all  events  fairly  before  them, 
nc  sought  advice  from  his  old  counsellor.  He  wrote  to  Fox  Brine  to  advertise  him 
that  the  crash  had  come  at  last,  and  asked  him  to  come  and  see  him. 

Mr.  Brine  has  his  hands  pretty  full  just  now.  He  has  established  himself  in  Park 
Crescent,  and  constituted  himself  head-nurse  at  Montague  Gore’s  bedside.  Much 
too  wise  is  Mr.  Brine  not  to  have  other  and  more  efficient  help  in  that  respect.  He 
can  depend  on  his  own  untiring  vigilance,  but  is  aware  that,  as  a nurse,  he  is  infinitely 
clumsy. 

He  has  two  skilled  professionals,  who  relieve  each  other  at  intervals,  and  over  these 
Mr.  Brine  exercises  ceaseless  supervision,  gliding  noiselessly  into  the  room  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night;  for,  despite  the  fact  that  these  two  women  have  been 
sent  with  highest  recommendations  from  a leading  London  hospital,  Mr.  Brine  can- 
not divest  himself  of  the  idea  that  all  nurses  have  a dash  of  Sairy  Gamp  in  their 
composition,  which  it  behoves  him  ever  to  be  on  the  lookout  for.  However,  as  he 
Sept  this  theory  carefully  locked  in  his  own  bosom,  and  always  found  the  aurses  alert 


210 


Two  Kisses. 


and  watchful,  no  harm  came  of  it;  but  those  skilled,  patient  watchers  would  have 
been  very  angry  had  they  suspected  the  distrust  with  which  they  were  regarded. 

Still  does  the  fever-stricken  man  toss  to  and  fro  on  his  pillow,  and  pour  forth  inco- 
herent babble,  in  which  his  wife,  his  business,  and  his  boyish  days  are  strangely 
mingled. 

Eight  days  has  he  lain  in  this  state,  and  the  doctors  look  very  grave  now.  It  has 
come  to  this  with  their  patient ; if  he  gets  no  sleep  within  the  next  two  or  three  days, 
the  fever  will  wear  him  out.  Continually  do  the  nurses  force  stimulants  beneath  the 
white,  unconscious  lips,  feeding  the  low-burning  fires  of  life  with  such  fuel  as  they 
can.  But  Montague  Gore’s  weakness  is  now  something  pitiable  to  witness.  Brine, 
perhaps,  alone  of  the  watchers  round  the  sick  man’s  couch  is  still  sanguine  of  his 
recovery. 

As  Brine  with  anxious  face  comes  out  of  his  friend’s  chamber  in  company  with  the 
doctor,  the  butler  puts  a note  into  his  hands,  marked  “ Immediate,”  and  which  has 
been  forwarded  from  the  Temple.  It  was  from  Detfield. 

“ Unlucky,  by  Jove ! ” muttered  Brine,  as  he  read  it.  “ As  if  I hadn’t  trouble 
enough  in  hand  here.  Well,  I must  go  and  see  him;  but  what  I can  do  for  poor 
Charlie  I haven’t  the  faintest  conception,  beyond  telling  him  to  keep  his  courage  up.” 


Mb.  Brine  was  a man  of  action.  Intimating  to  the  household  that  he  should  be 
back  in  a couple  of  hours,  he  sallied  forth,  hailed  a passing  hansom,  and  ordered  the 
man  to  drive  him  to  Cursitor  street,  best  pace. 

“ All  right,  sir,”  replied  the  man,  touching  his  hat,  with  a grin;  “but  you’re  the 
fust  gemman  ever  gave  me  such  orders.  It’s  generally  coming  away  gents  are  in 
such  a confounded  hurry.” 

“ Go  ahead,  and  don’t  talk,”  responded  Mr.  Brine,  tersely. 

The  cabman  accordingly  did  go  ahead,  relieving  himself  for  having  been  snubbed 
by  disregard  for  human  life  at  the  crossings  most  edifying  to  witness.  However, 
thanks  to  their  own  activity,  none  of  her  majesty’s  lieges  were  crushed  beneath  the 
wheels  of  this  modern  Juggernaut,  and  in  a very  short  time  he  pulled  up  at  Cole- 
man’s evil-looking  portal  with  a jerk.  It  was  a sinister  door  that,  — a lowr,  beetle- 
browed  doorway;  a sneaking-looking  doorway.  It  looked  as  if  cognizant  of 
criminal  practices.  Brine  could  not  help  thinking  as  he  rang  the  bell  that  the  place 
savored  if  “ difficulties.”  lie  is  ushered  into  the  saloon  by  a shock-headed  myrmi- 
don, who,  after  glancing  vaguely  round,  intimates  that  he  will  let  Captain  Detfield 
know  he  is  here. 

Only  one  gentleman  present,  and  he,  seated  near  the  window,  is  apparently  engaged 


chapter  xyyre. 


BRINE  AND  TURBOTTLE  MEET  AGAIN. 


Brine  and  Turbottle  Meet  Again. 


211 


ill  the  perusal  of  the  day’s  paper.  Mr.  Brine  casts  a keen  glance  in  his  direction, 

starts,  looks  again  earnestly,  and  then  exclaims : — 

“ Mr.  Turbottle,  by  the  immortals  ! ” 

“ Eh ! no,  what  is  it  ? no,  it  can’t  be ! ” exclaims  the  little  man,  starting  to  his  feet. 
“ Yes,  it  is,  the  noble  gladiator.” 

“Just  so,”  replied  Brine;  “and  sorry  to  come  across  you  in  such  disagreeable 
quarters.” 

“ Oh,  pooh ! don’t  you  mind  me.  I could  go  out  to-morrow  if  I chose ; I’m  he/e  on 
principle.  I won’t  be  put  upon  by  old  Chowner ! no,  nor  any  other  man.” 

Brine  looked  inquiringly,  and  Mr.  Turbottle  proceeded  to  relate  his  grievances  in  re 
Chowner  at  length.  In  conclusion,  it  appeared  that  he  derived  immense  gratification 
from  the  fact  that  Chowner  had  only  recovered  about  half  of  his  debt  by  the  sale ; 
that  as  the  goods  had  been  surrendered,  he,  Mr.  Turbottle,  was  held  acquitted  of  the 
whole,  and  was  now  simply  undergoing  incarceration  on  account  of  the  costs,  which 
he  obstinately  refused  to  pay. 

“ And  now,  Mr.  Turbottle,  to  return  to  our  conversation  at  Nottingham.” 

“ Certainly,  sir,  certainly,”  replied  the  little  man,  with  a merry  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
“ 1 have  often  thought  of  your  last  remark : i A remarkable  pleasant  liquor,  Turbot- 
tle ; yes,  very  much  so,  and  calculated  to  promote  pleasant  dreams,  and  refreshing 
slumbers ; taken  temperately,  Turbottle,  taken  temperately.  But  shun  excess ; excess 
terminates  in  fever,  crime,  and  remorse.  Beware  of  excess,  Turbottle,  I’m  sorry  to 
observe  a tendency  that  way  in  you ; a disposition  to  fill  your  glass  twice  to  your 
companion’s  once.  Curb  such  unholy  appetites,  Turbottle,  and  beware  of  excess.’  ” 

“ Confound  you,  stop  your  accursed  reminiscences ! ” exclaimed  Brine,  laughing, 
when  he  was  at  length  able  to  get  a word  in,  for  the  little  man  had  rattled  out  his 
speech  with  such  volubility  and  gesticulation  that  for  a few  seconds  Brine  was 
positively  speechless. 

“ That  were  your  last  observation,  sure  as  I’m  pitting  here,”  replied  Mr.  Turbottle, 
demurely. 

“ Bah ! I don’t  want  to  know  what  nonsense  I talked  after  that  confounded  gin- 
punch  got  into  my  head.  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  know  about  Mark  Hemsworth, 
deceased  ? ” 

“I  never  said  I knew  anything  about  him,”  replied  Mr.  Turbottle,  eying  his 
interlocutor,  steadily.  “ It’s  news  to  me  that  he  is  dead.” 

“ Then  you  do  know  something  of  him  ? ” 

; I know  now  he’s  dead,”  returned  the  little  man,  with  a provoking  grin. 

“You  need  cst  jssi  on  the  subject,”  said  Brine,  sharply.  “There’s  property 
involved  in  this  inquiry,  and  I consider  you  quite  worth  putting  in  the  witness-box.” 

The  iocularitv  died  out  of  Mr.  Turbottle’s  countenance,  and  it  was  somewhat  sulkily 
He  retonsa . — 

“ This  is  a nice  sort  of  way  to  turn  round  on  a gemmam  you’ve  spent  % pleaw»* 
evening  with.  There’s  one  comfort,  when  you’ve  had  me  in  the  witness-box  yam} u 


212 


Twc  Kisses. 


be  satisfied  there  aint  much  to  be  got  out  of  me.  With  which  somewhat  equivocal 
remark  Mr.  Turbottle  resumed  his  paper  with  much  ostentation. 

Brine  hesitated  as  to  what  line  he  should  take  next.  Quite  evident  that  the  threat 
©f  the  witness-box  had  simply  raised  Mr.  Turbottle’s  bristles ; not  probable  that  he 
would  be  induced  to  speak  now. 

“ What  a fool  I was  to  lose  my  temper ! ” he  muttered ; “ as  if  I was  likely  1 9 get  at 
what  I wanted,  except  through  patience  and  fair  speaking.” 

“ Well,”  he  continued  aloud,  “ I don’t  know  what  your  motive  may  be  for  with- 
holding the  information  you  possess,  but  it’s  devilish  hard  no  one  will  help  poor  Mrs 
Hemsworth  to  come  to  her  own.” 

Mr.  Turbottle  turned  his  head  sharply  at  Brine’s  last  words. 

“ What’s  that  he  said  ? Do  you  mean  that  Mark  Hemsworth’s  widow  is  in  trouble 
about  getting  her  own  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I do.  Didn’t  I spend  the  whole  night  at  Nottingham  drumming  it  into 
your  head  ? — only  I suppose  the  punch  muddled  your  ideas,  and  you  couldn’t  take  it 
in.” 

Mr.  Turbottle’s  visage  relaxed,  he  closed  his  right  eye,  laid  his  forefinger  to  the 
side  of  his  nose,  and  gave  vent  to  a short,  sharp  cachinnation. 

But  at  this  moment  Detfield  entered  the  room,  and  Brine,  of  course,  turned  to 
greet  him. 

“Well,  Charlie,”  he  said,  “I’m  awful  sorry,  old  fellow,  and  when  I’ve  said  that,  1 
don’t  know  what  else  to  say.” 

“We  never  made  much  of  my  difficulties  as  often  as  we  discussed  them,  Fox,  did 
we  ? ” replied  Detfield,  with  a smile.  “ I don’t  think  talking  over  them  will  be  much  use 
now.  1 sent  for  you,  because  I have  a commission  I want  you  to  do  for  me  in  the  first 
place,  and  one  or  two  things  I want  you  to  consult  you  about  besides.  First,  here  is  a 
queer  note  I got  this  morning  from  Claxby  Jenkens.  I went  to  have  a talk  with  him 
after  my  row  with  Roxby,  as  I told  you.  He  politely  expressed  his  opinion  that  I was 
a fool;  but  in  the  end  told  me  if  ever  he  could  do  me  a turn,  in  re  Koxby,  he  would; 
adding,  ‘ Mind,  I don’t  play  Roxby  till  I’ve  a strong  hand.’  Read  it : ” — 

“ 6 Charles  street, 

“August  10th. 

“ Deak  Detfield,  — You’ll,  no  doubt,  think  it  very  strange,  but  I am  going  to  play 
Roxby  — odder  still,  very  much  to  your  interests.  I’m  worth  backing,  as  I told  you 
I should  be  if  ever  this  event  came  off.  I hold  a trump  or  two  he  has  little  idea  of. 
The  result  concerns  you  so  nearly,  that  you  will  know  speedily  whether  I win  or  no. 
Meanwhile,  adieu. 

'l  Yours  sincerely, 

“Claxby  Jenkens.” 

“ Why,  the  scoundrel  was  down  at  Brompton-super-Mare  not  two  days  ago ! ” ex- 
tlaimed  Brine.  “ Charlie,  I wouldn’t  pin  much  faith  upon  this  man.  A bigger  villain 


Brine  and  Turbottle  Meet  Again . 


213 


doesn’t  walk  than  Claxby  Jenkens,”  and  here  Brine  stopped  abruptly,  as  he  remem- 
bered that,  though  no  doubt  it  was  whispered  abroad  that  Mrs.  Gore  had  left  her 
husband,  yet,  so  far,  no  name  had  been  coupled  with  hers  as  reason  for  her  doing 

so. 

She  was  held  to  have  separated,  not  eloped,  from  her  husband,  save  by  Montague 
Gore  himself,  Brine,  and  the  good  people  of  Brompton-super-Mare ; indebted  these 
last  for  their  belief  to  that  scrofulous-minded  old  warrior,  Colonel  Prawn. 

Brine  had  raised  his  voice  as  he  finished  his  speech,  his  indignation  against  the 
major  carrying  him  away  for  the  moment.  Now  he  was  aware  that  not  only  Detfield 
was  looking  at  him  with  some  curiosity,  but  that  Mr.  Turbottle  had  suddenly  wheeled 
his  chair  round,  and  was  staring  at  him  with  the  utmost  amazement. 

“ Bah ! Charlie,”  he  continued,  “ I said  more  than  I should  have  done.  Only,  I 
wouldn’t  put  much  faith  in  the  major,  if  I was  you ; he’s  a bad  lot.” 

“ All  the  better  fitted  to  tackle  Koxby,”  replied  the  guardsman.  “I  can’t  fancy  an 
honest  fellow  having  much  chance.  It’s  odd,  — I dare  say  foolish ; but  I can’t  help 
thinking  the  major  will  do  me  a good  turn,  though  for  the  life  of  me  I can’t  guess 
how.  There,  never  mind ; we’ll  say  no  more  about  it.  The  next  thing,  Fox,  is,  you 
must  find  me  a lawyer.” 

“ All  right,  and  mind  you  make  a clean  breast  of  it  with  him.  They  can’t  keep  you 
boxed  up  very  long,  you  know.  What  would  pull  through,  Charlie  ? ” 

“ I don’t  know  exactly,  — between  five  and  six  thousand,  I suppose.” 

“ Well,  you  and  your  solicitor  had  better  give  your  minds  to  ascertaining  that  sum 
exactly.  Now,  is  there  anything  else  ? Because  poor  Montie  Gore’s  down  with  brain 
fever,  and  I don’t  like  to  be  long  away  from  him.  It’s  a case  of  touch  and  go.” 

“ Yes,  there  is  one  thing  more,”  replied  Detfield,  in  rather  a hesitating  manner; 
“ and  busy  as  you  are,  Fox,  you  must  spare  me  an  hour  for  this.  I want  you  to 
deliver  this  note  with  your  own  hands.  Explain  to  Bessie  that  I am  not  in  a dungeon, 
and  that  I shall  be  released  in  a few  days ; of  course,  I’ve  said  all  that,  but  she’ll  be 
more  reconciled  if  she  hears  it  also  from  you  who’ve  seen  me.  Not  a pleasant  place 
to  date  one’s  love-letters  from.  Not  a pleasant  subject  to  have  to  write  about  to  the 
girl  one  loves,”  added  Charlie,  bitterly. 

“No,”  replied  Brine,  gently,  “and  it’s  not  exactly  a pleasant  commission  you’ve 
given  me ; but  I’ll  do  the  best  I can  with  it.  Now,  good-by,”  and  the  friends  clasped 
hands.  “ Good-by,  Mr.  Turbottle.” 

“ One  moment,  guv’nor,  one  moment.  You  said  Mrs.  Hemsworth  was  in  trouble  to 
come  at  her  own,  — that’s  gospel  truth,  eh  ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly  it  is.” 

“ And  you  said  Claxby  Jenkens  was  the  biggest  villain  ever  walked;  that’s  a factf 
too,  aint  it  ? ” 

“ Most  decidedly,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief.” 

“ You  mean  it  every  bit ; and  you’ve  something  to  go  on,  eh  ? ” 

“ I mean  it  thoroughly,  and  have  very  guod  reasons  for  so  doing.” 


$14  Two  Kisses. 

fi  Very  gx>d.  I suppose  you’d  come  here  again  if  you  thought  I’d  anything  to 

tell  you  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ All  right.  I must  think  out  things  a bit.  He  knows  where  you  live,  I suppose  ? ” 
said  Mr.  Tnrbottle,  jerking  his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  Detfield.  “ Curious  I can’t 
recollect  your  telling  me  all  that  at  Nottingham,  aint  it  ? ” and  Mr.  Turbottle  winked 
knowingly.  “ Remarkably  pleasant  liquor  is  cold  punch,  — taken  temperately,  mind, 
taken  temperately.  Good-by,  sir,”  and  here  Mr.  Turbottle  chuckled  till  he  positively 
turned  purple.  Ere  he  recovered,  Fox  Brine  was  gone. 

“ Well,”  said  that  gentleman,  as  he  whirled  up  Farringdon  street  in  a hansom,  “ if 
I’m  not  collecting  material  for  .a  play  or  novel  just  now,  it  can’t  be  done  by  observa- 
tion. Act  I.,  The  Sponging-house ; Act  II.,  The  Boudoir ; arrival  of  male  confidant. 
The  heroine  ought  to  be  dressed  like  Tilburina,  in  white  satin.  I hope  she’ll  have  her 
hair  down ; and  of  course  she  ought  to  faint.  Rather  she  didn’t,  though ; it’s  all  very 
well  on  the  stage,  but  in  real  life  I never  saw  the  man  yet  whom  it  didn’t  frighten. 
Roseneath  House,  — here  we  are.”  Mr.  Brine  jumped  out,  knocked,  and  sent  in 
his  card. 

Of  course  his  name  was  well-known  to  Bessie.  She  had  heard  Charlie  speak  of 
him  often,  and  she  gave  instant  directions  to  show  him  up.  The  girl  divined  at  once 
that  he  brought  her  evil  tidings. 

Mr.  Brine  was  a little  taken  aback  as  he  entered  the  room.  Very  little  indeed  of 
Tilburina  was  there  in  the  slight,  dark-eyed  girl,  draped  in  simple  muslin,  her  rich 
brown  tresses  braided  in  a simple  knot,  who,  with  pale  cheeks  and  rather  compressed 
lips,  advanced  to  meet  him  with  outstretched  hand. 

“ You  bring  me  bad  news,  I know,  Mr.  Brine ; but  Charlie  is  well  ? ” and  the  brown 
eyes  looked  a little  anxiously  up  at  her  visitor. 

4 4 Perfectly ; I bring  you  a note  from  him.  It  was  only  that  he  thought  you  might 
like  to  put  a question  or  two  to  a friend  who  has  seen  him  in  his  captivity  that  caused 
me  to  be  the  bearer.” 

44  It’s  very  kind  of  you,”  replied  Bessie,  as  she  broke  open  her  lover’s  note.  44  Pray 
sit  down.” 

At  this  instant  Miss  Matilda  entered  the  room,  and  of  course  Brine  had  to  be 
presented. 

44  Well,  sir,”  commenced  that  lady,  44  you,  of  course,  bring  evil  tidings  of  Captain 
Detfield.  We  are  quite  prepared;  ever  since  we  adopted  a scapegrace  into  the  family 
we  have  expected  disastrous  news  of  him  by  every  post  and  every  visitor.” 

44  Aunt ! ” exclaimed  Bessie. 

“ Pooh ! you  chit ! of  course  we  have.  Didn’t  he  tell  us  that  he  expected  what  he  deli- 
cately termed  ti  mble  every  day  of  his  eventful  life  ? I suppose,  Mr.  Brine,  it’s  come  ? ’ 

Fox  bowed. 

u Well,  I have  no  doubt  you  will  think  me  a veiy  foolish  old  woman,  Mr.  Brine 
frut,  you  see,  I’ve  somehow  got  fond  of  the  child  there,  and  I don’t  want  the  sunshine 


215 


Brine  and  Turbottle  Meet  Again. 

to  die  out  of  her  face ; and  then  I don’t  know  how  it  is,  but  I have  got  to  like 
Charlie  Detfield  for  himself.  I suppose  it’s  because  he’s  the  greatest  ne’er-do-well  I 
ever  came  across.” 

By  this  time  Bessie  had  stole  across  to  her  aunt,  slipped  her  hand  into  Miss 
Matilda’s,  and  seated  herself  on  a low  chair  close  by  that  lady. 

“ I don’t  know,”  continued  Miss  Stanbury,  slowly ; “ but  I think  there’s  good  stuff 
in  him.  I think,  if  he  were  once  clear  of  the  follies  of  his  youthful  days,  he  would 
keep  out  of  debt  in  future,  and  make  Bessie  a good  husband.  The  long  and  short  of 
which,  Mr.  Brine,  is  this,  that  I’m  a very  foolish  old  woman,  and  would  help  Captain 
Detfield  out  of  his  difficulties  if  I could.  Now,  if  you  can  let  me  know  how  much  is 
wanted,  then  I should  be  able  to  say  if  it  were  within  my  power  to  assist  him.” 

“ I don’t  know  how  to  thank  you  for  Charlie,  Miss  Stanbury,”  replied  Brine,  “ It’s  a 
magnificent  offer ; but  it  cannot  be,  you  know.” 

“ And  why  not,  sir  ? ” retorted  Miss  Matilda,  sharply. 

“ Because  I don’t  quite  think  Charlie  would  allow  you  to  pay  his  debts  for  him,”  said 
Brine,  slowly. 

“ It  has  been  the  special  prerogative  of  all  aunts  and  uncles  in  every  play  I ever 
saw,  — in  every  novel  I ever  read.  If  not  his  aunt  yet,  I am  able  to  state,  on  the  very 
best  authority,  that  I am  about  to  be ; ” and  here  Miss  Bessie  received  a pinch  that  made 
her  ear  tingle. 

“Well,  we  must  think  about  it,  Miss  Stanbury,”  replied  Brine,  guardedly. 
“Whatever  Charlie  may  decide,  his  gratitude  to  you  must  remain  unbounded.” 

“ I suppose  he  would  have  allowed  his  wife  to  pay  his  debts  ? ” retorted  Miss  Stan- 
bury, with  some  asperity.  “ I can’t  see  much  distinction.” 

Brine  was  conscious  that  he  was  involved  in  a veiy  awkward  argument,  and  only 
wished  himself  well  out  of  it.  He  had  dim  memories  of  the  schemes  with  which 
Charlie  had  first  sought  Boseneath  House,  and  felt  that  he  was  taking  higher  ground 
than  circumstances  quite  warranted. 

“ When  he  asked  Miss  Bessie  to  marry  him,  he  didn’t  know  she  was  an  heiress,” 
said  Brine,  at  length. 

“ No,  that  was  very  like  him ; as  if  he  would  ever  have  married  her  if  she  wasn’t,” 
observed  Miss  Stanbury. 

“ Then  he  could  not  withdraw  his  words  without  the  lady’s  consent,  which  he  will 
never  have,”  interposed  Bessie,  with  a slight  blush. 

“ And,  therefore,  you  see  it  is  all  different,”  continued  Brine,  speaking  veiy  fast ; 
“ and,  after  all,  it  is  Charlie  has  got  to  decide,  not  me.  I’ll  find  out  what  you  want, 
Miss  Stanbury ; and  in  the  mean  time  I’ve  a lot  to  do,  and  must  say  good-by ; ” and, 
before  Miss  Matilda  could  collect  herself  for  another  attack,  he  had  shaken  hands, 
and  left  the  house. 

“ Wheugh ! ” he  muttered,  when  he  got  outside.  “ What  a fool  I was  to  give  my 
opinion,  as  if  it  isn’t  all  Charlie’s  business.  There’s  plenty  of  men  would  find  no  fault 
With  anybody  who  paid  their  debts,  — let  it  be  who  it  might.” 


216 


Two  Kisses. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

NEMESIS. 

Cissy,  buried  in  the  corner  of  a first-class  carnage,  is  a victim  to  the  siddest  reflee 
tions  as  she  hurries  to  town.  She  has  forgotten,  for  the  present,  all  her  conceived 
wrongs.  She  remembers  nothing  now  but  that  the  man  she  loves  lies  -wrestling  with 
death;  has  lain,  her  father  writes  word,  for  days  past,  -waging  fell  struggle  for  exist- 
ence, — and  she  has  not  been  by  his  pillow.  She  blames  herself  bitterly.  He,  ever 
so  kind  and  thoughtful  of  her,  yet  the  first  time  she  in  her  womanhood  is  called  upon 
to  be  a true  wife  to  him,  she  was  absent  from  his  side. 

“ No,  I was  -wrong  to  part  in  that  way,  to  leave  him  without  a word.  My  God ! 
shall  I ever  hear  him  whisper  my  name  again  ? To  think  that  I may  be  too  late ; that 
the  lips  which  had  always  soft  words  for  me  may  be  closed  forever ; ” and  Cissy’s  eyes 
filled.  It  was,  indeed,  only  by  a violent  effort  she  refrained  from  a very  tempest  of 
tears. 

Arrived  in  town,  she  drove  straight  to  Park  Crescent  and  rang.  The  tan  in  front 
of  the  house,  the  blinds  but  half  drawn  up,  all  spoke  vividly  of  sickness  within. 
Houses  are  wont  to  assume  an  aspect  of  woe  -when  some  one  of  their  inmates  lies 
stricken  nigh  to  death.  Houses  have  physiognomies,  and  a house  that  holds  a flicker- 
ing life  within  it  is  easy  to  recognize.  Cissy  shivered,  warm  summer  day  though  it 
was,  as  she  stood  on  the  door-step  awaiting  an  answer  to  her  summons.  She  felt  as 
if  the  dread  shadow  of  the  destroyer  were  already  on  her  home. 

But  the  door  opened,  and  the  butler  appeared,  only  to  be  thrown  into  a state  of 
imbecility  and  confusion  by  the  apparition  of  his  mistress  that  was  painful  to  witness. 
To  her  quick,  anxious  inquiry  after  her  husband,  he  faltered  out  the  parrot-likf 
rejoinder,  “ Master’s  pretty  much  the  same,  ma’  am,”  which  he  had  dispensed  to  ail 
callers  for  the  last  four  or  five  days. 

But  what  did  utterly  puzzle  him  was  where  he  was  to  show  his  mistress.  He  had 
a sort  of  undefined  idea  that  his  duty  required  him  to  say,  “ Not  at  home ; ” that  some- 
how Mrs.  Gore  ought  not  to  come  there;  but  then,  again,  how  was  he  to  refuse 
admission  to  his  mistress  ? Cissy  relieved  him  of  this  dilemma  by  brushing  rapidly 
past  him,  and  ascending  the  stairs.  The  butler  was  recalled  to  himself  by  the  exi- 
gency of  the  situation;  he  followed  hi3  mistress  rapidly  upstairs,  and  exclaimed,  as 
they  gained  the  landing  : — 

“ Please  step  into  the  drawing-room,  ma’am,  while  I send  upstairs  to  say  you  are 
here.  Master  is  allowed  to  see  no  one ; and  really  it  would  be  more  prudent  that  the 
Surses,  and  so  on,  should  be  let  know  of  your  arrival.” 

There  was  reason  in  this. 

' 


Nemesis. 


217 


“ Yes,  it  would  be  best.  Send  quick ; at  once,  you  understand,  Benson,”  replied 
Cissy,  as  she  threw  herself  upon  a fauteuil. 

Now,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  domestics  in  Park  Crescent  were  quite 
unaware  of  the  blacker  accusation  that  , had  been  levelled  against  Cissy.  They 
believed  simply  that  a violent  quarrel  had  taken  place  between  their  master  and  mis- 
tress, and  that  the  latter,  in  her  anger,  had  suddenly  betaken  herself  to  Brompton- 
8uper-Mare.  In  their  own  set  in  London,  this  was  the  accepted  version  of  Mrs.  Gore’s 
abrupt  disappearance  from  her  home.  True,  there  were  the  cynics,  as  there  always 
will  be,  who  held  that  when  a woman  ran  away  from  her  husband  there  was  always 
another  man  at  the  bottom  of  it.  But  those  who  could  give  a personality  to  this  man 
were  very  few,  if  we  except  the  well-informed  population  of  Brompton-super-Mare. 

We  know  that  both  her  husband  and  Brine,  unfortunately  for  Cissy,  are  two  of  the 
firmest  believers  in  her  guilt.  John  Paynter  shakes  his  head,  as  he  talks  the  thing 
over  with  his  wife,  and  says  he  hopes  it  may  come  out  all  right,  “But  there  was  a 
mysterious  stranger,  you  know,  Lizzie.” 

“And  I don’t  care  if  there  were  fifty  mysterious  strangers,” retorted  Mrs. Paynter, 
impetuously,  “ and  if  Cissy  was  always  meeting  them.  I tell  you,  John,  she  loved 
her  husband  very  dearly,  though  she  didn’t  quite  know  it.  She’s  run  away  alone  • 
take  my  w'ord  for  it.” 

Mr.  Brine,  when  he  received  the  intelligence  that  Mrs.  Gore  was  in  the  drawing- 
room, was  as  much  taken  a-back  as  his  informant,  the  butler,  had  been  previously 
To  him  there  was  something  revolting  in  the  effrontery  of  this  woman,  who  could 
come  from  the  side  of  her  paramour  to  sit  by  what  would  probably  be  her  husband’s 
death-bed.  There  lingered  no  doubt  of  Cissy’s  guilt  in  his  mind ; had  he  not  been 
down  to  Brompton-super-Mare  and  seen  for  himself  ? She  had  fled  from  her  husband’s 
home.  She  was  there  with  Claxby  Jenkens.  There  could  be  but  one  inference  drawn 
from  that. 

Mr.  Brine  by  no  means  fancied  the  interview  that  laid  before  him ; but  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  fully,  and  intended  to  swerve  not  one  bit  from  his  decision.  Mrs. 
Gore  must  be  made  to  understand  that  she  had  forfeited  the  shelter  of  her  husband’s 
roof ; that  her  presence  in  that  house  was  an  insult  past  toleration ; in  short,  that  she 
must  leave  it,  and  at  once.  All  this  Brine  had  determined  to  explain  to  her  thoroughly, 
— gently,  if  that  would  suffice;  but  in  curt,  forcible  English  should  it  be  necessary; 
and  to  a woman  who  could  act,  as  in  his  eyes  Cissy  had  acted,  Brine  thought  it  very 
possible  it  would  be  to  the  latter  method  he  should  be  called  upon  to  resort. 

“ I suppose  it  will  end  in  a scene,”  he  muttered,  as  he  slowly  descended  the  stairs ; 
u but  stay  in  this  house  she  shan’t,  I’m  determined.  What  the  deuce  is  her  motive,  I 
wonder  ? Some  scheme  concerning  the  proprieties,  I suppose.  I shouldn’t  be  sur- 
prised if  she’s  speculating  upon  how  many  hours  poor  Montie  has  still  to  live,  — the 
Jezebel ! ” 

He  opened  the  drawing-room  door.  Mrs.  Gore  sprang  quickly  from  her  seat,  as  the 
handle  turned,  and  advanced  to  meet  the  new-comer. 


218 


Two  Kisses. 


“Mr.  Brine;”  she  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  visible  disappointment,  as  she  bent 
haughtily  towards  him.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  stiffness  with  which  he  had 
acknow  ledged  her  salutation  at  Brompton-super-Mare.  “ I suppose,”  she  continued, 
after  a few  seconds’  hesitation,  “ that  I may  now  go  to  my  husband.” 

“ I regret  to  say,  Mrs.  Gore,  that  is  quite  impossible,”  replied  Brine. 

“ Impossible ! how  so  ? Surely  my  presence  can  do  Montague  no  harm,  — how  is 
he  ? is  he  still  delirious  ? does  he  know  people  ? ” 

11  Poor  Montie  has  recognized  nobody  for  days.” 

“ I have  but  this  morning  heard  of  his  illness,”  continued  Cissy,  in  a low,  passionate 
whisper.  “ I hurried  up  from  Brompton-super-Mare  immediately.  Surely,  Mr. 
Brine,  the  doctors  can  have  no  valid  reason  for  refusing  his  wife  her  privilege  of 
nursing  him.  Do  not  be  afraid  that  I shall  break  down,  or  do  anything  foolish; 
believe  me,  I have  plenty  of  command  over  myself.  I blame  myself  severely  that  I 
should  have  been  away  when  it  happened ;”  and  as  she  finished,  Cissy  brushed  the 
tears  from  the  wet  lashes,  and  looked  almost  pleadingly  up  into  his  face. 

“ A consummate  actress,  this  woman,”  thought  Brine. 

“ Mrs.  Gore,”  he  replied,  “ pray  don’t  oblige  me  to  speak  more  plainly ; but  surely 
you  must  see  that  your  remaining  in  this  house,  after  what  has  taken  place,  is  an 
impossibility.” 

‘ 1 Ah ! you  have  heard  that  Montague  and  I have  quarrelled.  I might  have  guessed 
as  much  from  your  manner.  But  is  a quarrel,  that  might  have  been  already  healed 
had  Montague  not  been  struck  down,  to  debar  me  from  my  right  to  tend  him  now  he 
is  sick  ? ” 

“ Such  quarrel  as  there  is  between  you  two  undoubtedly  does,”  replied  Brine, 
bitterly. 

“ I deny  it.  You  have  always  disliked  me.  I could  see  it  the  first  evening  we  ever 
met,  though  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  my  offending.  And  now,”  continued  Cissy 
haughtily,  “ I challenge  your  right  to  come  between  us.  By  what  authority,  sir,  do 
you  take  it  upon  yourself  to  interpose  between  husband  and  wife  ? ” As  she  con- 
cluded, Cissy  drew  herself  up,  and  her  gray  eyes  flashed  defiance  at  her  adversary. 

“ I interpose  as  Montague  Gore’s  most  intimate  friend,  — as  one  to  whom  he  con- 
fided the  shameful  story  of  his  wife’s  desertion ; as  one  who  has  since  verified  the 
story  for  himself.  I act  for  Montague  as  he  wrould  for  himself,  could  he  understand 
your  presence  in  this  house.  Don’t  question  my  authority,”  added  Brine,  sternly. 

“ I do,  and  more  than  ever  now,”  returned  Cissy.  “ Montague  tell  you  why  I 
left  him ! I’ll  not  believe  it.  Shameful ! ” she  exclaimed,  scornfully ; “ his  conscience 
told  him  why ; but,  ah ! ” she  continued,  dropping  her  voice,  “ this  is  no  time  to 
blame  him ; but  believe  me,  Mr.  Brine,  what  shame  there  might  be,  rests  net  with  2*^.' 

Fox  Brine  stood  for  a momeM  almost  stupefied  by  what  he  conceived  this  woman’s 
extraAra;«ojy  audacity ; then  he  replied,  in  alinoat  menacing  tones : — 

— 'pt  for  all.  wiL1  yen  take  mf  advice,  and  leave  this  house  quieay  i i am  loath, 
to  speak  to  you  plainly.” 


Nemesis. 


219 


" Speak,  sir ! * replied  Cissy,  as  she  reared  her  head,  proudly.  “ I should  like  to 
hear  upon  what  grounds  you  conceive  yourself  entitled  to  forbid  me  my  own  house. 
I can  imagine  your  having  been  at  some  pains  to  rake  up  stories  to  my  disadvantage.” 

The  contemptuous  tones,  the  final  taunt,  were  not  calculated  to  make  her  adver 
saiy  stay  his  hand.  Brine,  moreover,  looked  upon  this  woman  as  utterly  false ; still 
there  was  more  of  sadness  than  bitterness  in  his  voice,  as  he  replied,  quietly : — 

“ You  would  hear  the  charges  against  you  summed  up  ? You  would  know  what 
version  your  husband  and  his  friends  have  of  your  sudden  flight  ? ” 

Cissy  winced  a little  even  at  this  word. 

“ For  weeks  past,  then,  it  has  been  known  to  your  husband  and  his  intimates,  that 
you  were  in  the  habit  of  giving  clandestine  rendezvous  to  a stranger.  I,  myself, 
upon  one  occasion,  saw  you  part  with  this  man  in  Montague  square,  and  allow  him  to 
kiss  you  in  so  doing.” 

Cissy  could  not  repress  a movement  of  surprise. 

“ Your  husband  expostulates ; a few  days  after,  you  leave  your  home,  and,  when 
next  heard  of,  you  are  established  at  Brompton-super-Mare,  with  this  identical 
stranger  as  your  companion.  The  stranger  is  identified  as  Major  Claxby  Jenkens,  — 
a man  more  known  than  respected  about  town.  There  is  but  one  conclusion  the 
world  can  draw  from  this  stoiy,  and  if  you  could  have  heard  the  current  gossip  at 
Brompton-super-Mare  you  would  have  found  that  there,  at  all  events,  they  had  drawn 
that  deduction.” 

Cissy  had  thrown  herself  on  a sofa,  and,  with  face  buried  in  her  hands,  lay  literally 
cowering  under  the  foul  charge  on  which  she  stood  arraigned.  As  if  a veil  had  been  torn 
from  before  her  eyes,  she  suddenly  recognized  how  her  conduct  could  be  judged  by 
her  acquaintance ; could  be,  forsooth  ? — had  been.  She  saw  how  plausible  the  whole 
story  was.  She  could  understand  how  Brine  had  been  led  to  believe  in  it.  But, 
Montague,  ah!  Montague  should  have  known  her  better;  he  ought  not  to  have 
judged  her  so  hastily. 

Then  it  flashed  across  her  how  she  had  judged  him ; had  she  not  deemed  him  false 
upon  even  more  slender  evidence  ? She  had  convicted  him  upon  a kiss,  while  she, 
herself,  had  been  found  guilty  upon  a train  of  circumstantial  evidence  of  which  a 
kiss  was  but  a link.  It  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  wronged  Montague,  verily,  as 
she  herself  was  foully  wronged  at  that  moment. 

Brine  remained  silent.  A few  minutes,  and  Cissy  raised  herself,  pushed  back  the 
dark  masses  of  hair  from  her  temples,  and  looked  gravely  at  him.  There  was  no 
defiance  now  in  her  attitude ; her  face  was  very  still,  though  her  lips  trembled  slightly 
as  she  spoke. 

“ Mr.  Brine,”  she  said,  gently,  “ I have  heard  this  terrible  charge  for  the  first  time 
You  have  seen  me  overwhelmed  by  it.  A woman  may  well  be  that,  although  inno- 
cent ; and  I tell  you  I am  innocent.  I tell  you  I can  disprove  the  whole  story  in  the 
course  of  a day  or  two.  But  so  cleverly  have  appearances  combined  against  me  I 
gan  hardly  blame  you  for  holding  me  guilty,  as  I see  you  do.  It  is  useless  for  me  to 


220 


Two  Kisses. 


ft ay  more  at  present.  Major  Jenkens  shall  explain  what  the  relations  between  us 
really  are,  and,  believe  me,  this  hideous  accusation  will  then  tumble  to  pieces  like  a 
house  of  cards.” 

Brine  was  struck  by  the  change  in  her  manner.  The  first  shock  at  hearing  the 
charge  made  against  her  overcome,  and  she  met  it  in  quiet,  resolute,  steadfast 
fashion ; not  defiantly,  nor  yet  lightly ; but  as  a woman  might,  who,  thoroughly 
impressed  with  the  gravity  of  her  situation,  yet  felt  no  manner  of  doubt  about  clearing 
herself  in  the  eyes  of  all  men,  and  that  right  speedily. 

She  was  silent  for  a little ; then  once  more  she  looked  beseechingly  at  him,  and  her 
voice  shook  a little  as  she  spoke. 

“ You  are  prejudiced  against  me,  Mr.  Brine ; but  when  I pledge  you  my  word  that 
this  calumny  not  only  can  be,  but  will  be  almost  immediately,  refuted,  do  you  still 
dare  to  refuse  me  my  place  by  my  husband’s  sick-bed  ? ” 

Brine  was  staggered.  He  had  entered  that  room  with  no  doubt  of  this  woman’s 
guilt.  He  had  entertained  no  doubt  of  it,  when  he  summed  up  so  tersely  the  evi- 
dence against  her.  He  had  deemed  her  acting  a part  all  through  the  first  portion  of 
their  interview ; but  Cissy’s  last  words  had  the  ring  of  truth  in  them ; and  her  quiet, 
earnest,  self-sustained  manner  assuredly  carried  no  consciousness  of  guilt  about  it. 

“ Mrs.  Gore,”  he  replied,  at  length,  “ I don’t  think  I’m  prejudiced  against  you,  but 
I will  own,  fairly,  that  I have  judged  you  as  the  world  has  judged  you  till  the  last 
few  minutes.  No  man,  I think,  could  have  heard  you  assert  your  innocence  of  that 
of  which  you  are  accused,  without  at  least  pausing  to  rellect  whether  he  may  not 
have  been  mistaken.” 

“ Thank  you,  Mr.  Brine,”  replied  Cissy,  with  a grateful  smile;  “then  admit  my 
right  to  go  to  my  husband.” 

She  was  thinking  more  even  now  of  regaining  the  privilege  of  watching  and  tending 
the  sick-bed  of  the  man  she  loved  than  of  re-establishing  her  fair  fame. 

“ I am  afraid  that  cannot  be,”  replied  Brine,  uneasily. 

“ Why  not  ? ” asked  Cissy,  eagerly.  “ You  said  you  held  me  innocent.” 

“ I didn’t  quite  say  that.  I said  I thought  I had  been  mistaken.  I say  now,  I 
devoutly  trust  that  before  forty-eight  hours  Mrs.  Gore  will  have  triumphantly  refuted 
all  the  scandal  at  present  associated  with  her  name.  Nobody  will  be  more  delighted 
than  myself;  nobody  will  more  humbly  apologize  for  having  for  a little  doubted  _ , 
her.” 

“ I still  do  not  see  why  I may  not  go  to  my  husband,”  cried  Cissy,  imploringly. 

“ It  is  no  guilty  woman  who  asks  you.  Do  you  think,  if  I were,  I could  dare  set  foot  in 
his  house  ? It  is  a wife  who  asks  to  tend  the  husband  she  loves  with  her  whole  heart, 
in  his  hour  of  need.  I must,  I will  go.  It’s  God’s  truth,  I’ve  done  nothing  to  forfeit 
the  rights  my  marriage  vow  gave  me ! ” and,  starting  to  her  feet,  Cissy  would  have 
left  the  room,  had  not  Brine  interposed. 

“ Impossible ! For  your  sake  as  much  as  his.”  he  cried 

“ My  sake  ? ” exclaimed  Cissy, 


Nemesis. 


221 


“ Yet , can  you  mot  see  it  ? Surely,  you  don’t  want  to  force  the  brutal  explanation 
from  my  lips  ? ” 

“ I don’t  understand  you,”  said  Cissy,  her  gray  eyes  open  wide  with  astonishment. 

“ Cannot  you  fancy  what  the  world  will  say,  if  you  stay  here  before  your  innocence 
is  established  ? ” 

“ No.  What  scandal  can  come  of  my  nursing  my  husband  ? ” 

Brine’s  face  flushed,  and  his  voice  came  thick  with  shame,  as  he  said : — 

“ Don’t  blame  me.  The  world  will  probably  say  that  you  took  advantage  of  your 
husband’s  prostration  to  obtain  pardon  of  your  sin.” 

Cissy  started,  and  literally  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

“I  thank  you,  sir,”  she  said,  after  a slight  pause.  “I  had  needed  to  have  been, 
indeed,  the  guilty  woman  you  think  me  to  have  dreamed  that  it  was  possible  to  take 
that  view  of  my  return.  You  handle  the  knife  ruthlessly,  Mr.  Brine ; you  lay  open 
wounds  and  spare  not.  I understand  now,  — I am  not  fit  to  be  beneath  my  husband’s 
roof  while  this  foul  stain  rests  upon  me.  A few  hours,  and  you  yourself  shall  apolo- 
gize for  the  wrong  you  have  done  me.  Poor  Montague ! I don’t  think  he  would 
have  judged  his  foolish  wife  so  hardly.  I think  he  would  have  taken  my  word  for 
my  innocence  without  waiting  for  the  proofs.  He  did  love  me.” 

“ If  I have  spoken  harshly,  Mrs.  Gore,  forgive  me.  If  you  are  an  innocent  woman, 
believe  me,  it  is  all  for  the  best.” 

“ I will  try  to  think  so.  One  thing  you  cannot  refuse  me,  — you  will  send  me  word 
cf  any  change  to  the  Langham  Hotel.  And,  Mr.  Brine,”  continued  Cissy,  as  her 
voice  dropped  to  a whisper,  “ remember,  should  it  be  — should  it  be  for  the  worse, 
guilty  or  not  guilty,  I must  bid  him  good-by.  You  cannot  stand  between  us  at  such 
a moment.” 

“ No.  You  shall  be  sent  for,”  replied  Brine. 

u You  promise.” 

" I swear  it.” 

u Good-by,”  and,  with  a slight  inclination  of  her  head,  Cissy  took  her  departure. 


CHAPTER  XLL 

ANALYZING  A KISS. 

Cissy,  on  leaving  her  husband’s  house,  drove  straightway  to  the  Langham  Hotel, 
engaged  a room,  and  telegraphed  to  her  maid  to  join  her  there  next  day.  She  had 
chosen  this  hotel  because  it  was  but  little  distance  from  Park  Crescent.  Moreover, 
there  were  porters  up  all  night,  and,  in  the  event  of  that  terrible  summons  arriving 
for  her,  she  thought  she  could  count  upon  being  speedily  aroused,  should  it  CGme  to 
her  in  the  night-time 


222 


Two  Kisses. 


Very,  very  sad  was  Cissy.  It  was  terrible  to  think  that  Montague  coul  1 have 
believed  all  this  of  her ; frightful  to  think  that  he  might  die  and  never  hear  her  expla- 
nation. Saddest  of  all  was  it  that  she  should  be  deemed  to  have  forfeited  hei  right 
to  watch  over  him  in  his  illness.  Then  she  thought  once  more  over  the  scene  she 
had  witnessed  in  his  chambers  between  him  and  Lizzie  Paynter.  If  it  was  possible 
her  own  conduct  could  have  been  so  misconstrued,  might  she  not  also  have  built  up 
her  theory  regarding  her  husband’s  relations  with  Mrs.  Paynter  upon  equally  unsub- 
stantial grounds  ? ” 

What  was  it  she  had  seen  ? An  earnest  conversation  between  them,  at  the  termi- 
nation of  which  Montague  had  kissed  her.  She  had  been  unable  to  hear  what  they 
said.  She  had  imagined  a love-scene  between  them,  but  was  forced  to  confess  it  was 
founded  entirely  upon  that  one  kiss.  Yet,  even  in  her  penitence  and  humility,  Cissy 
felt  that  it  was  a kiss  she  had  a right  to  demand  explanation  of.  She  would.  From 
her  husband  it  was  impossible ; but  she  would  have  the  whole  affair  out  with  Lizzie 
Paynter  to-morrow. 

A somewhat  hazardous  experiment  this.  Difficult  to  say  how  Mrs.  Paynter  would 
take  such  an  attack.  For  Lizzie  was  a woman  cunning  of  fence,  and  the  opportunity 
of  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy’s  countiy,  should  she  wax  angry,  was  only  too 
obvious. 

In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Gore  despatched  a messenger  with  a note  to  Charles  street, 
begging  her  father  to  call  upon  her  the  first  thing  the  next  morning.  When  the 
messenger  returned,  he  brought  back  word  the  major  had  gone  out  of  town  for  a day 
or  two. 

The  Fates  apparently  were  against  Cissy.  To  clear  her  fair  fame  it  was  essential 
that  the  major  should  bear  testimony.  He  not  only  could  state,  but  prove,  that  she 
was  his  daughter.  However  strong  his  reasons  for  keeping  in  the  background,  Cissy 
had  little  fear  but  that  he  would  come  forward  when  he  heard  of  what  she  was 
accused. 

It  was  in  her  eyes  of  vital  importance  that  she  should  clear  herself  at  once.  Not 
so  much  on  account  of  the  scandal,  — Cissy’s  lip  curled  contemptuously  as  she  thought 
how  surely  she  could  demolish  that  piece  of  malicious  gossip,  — but  till  she  could  do 
so,  she  was  still  banished  from  the  place  she  now  most  coveted  on  earth,  — the  side  of 
her  husband’s  couch. 

Who  has  not  at  some  time  known  that  terrible  torture  of  waiting,  with  idle  hands, 
for  the  hourly  bulletin  of  the  health  of  some  one  veiy  dear  to  us ; when  you  can  dc 
nothing ; when  medical  skill  confesses  the  issue  to  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Creator ; 
when  there  remains  nothing  we  can  do  to  alleviate,  nothing  we  can  do  to  assist  the 
sufferer  in  his  grim  wrestle  with  death;  when  you  sit  with  folded  arms  awaiting 
ttie  result  of  the  struggle  in  which  all  power  to  help  is  denied  you  ? 

Even  then,  where  one  loves  deeply,  it  is  something  to  be  able  to  smooth  the  pillow, 
to  bathe  the  patient’s  brow,  to  moisten  the  parched  lips.  To  those  that  sit  patiently 
vitbin  call  of  the  sick-room,  and  simply  awaitt  the  pain  is  infinitely  more  than  to  tbos$ 


Analyzing  a Kiss. 


223 


who  are  performing  such  simple  and  perhaps  useless  offices.  To  stand  motionless,  a 
mere  spectator  of  the  fight,  is  always  a lot  hard  to  bear.  Cissy  is  doomed  to  stand 
quite  aloof,  and  wait  for  tidings,  — she  whose  loving  hands  should  have  performed 
those  tasks  now  left  to  professional  nurses. 

She  had  lain  down  dressed  on  her  bed,  so  as  to  be  ready  at  a moment’s  rotice.  In  her 
state  of  anxiety  sleep  was  an  impossibility.  -She  descended  from  her  room  as  soon  as 
the  hotel  recognized  that  the  day  had  begun.  A cup  of  strong  coffee  braced  her 
nerves  a little,  but  the  waiting  soon  became  past  bearing. 

A messenger  from  Brine  informed  her  that  there  was  as  yet  no  change  in  her 
husband;  that  the  doctors  looked  more  anxious  than  ever,  and  said  he  must  sleep 
soon,  or  sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  The  waiting  became  unendurable ; the 
tension  on  the  nerves  could  be  borne  no  longer.  She  must  do  something ; action  of 
some  kind  was  imperative ; she  would  carry  out  her  last  night’s  idea.  She  would  go 
and  see  Lizzie  Taynter. 

Ordering  a brougham  to  be  ready  at  a moment’s  notice,  she  gave  the  clerk  special 
directions  to  send  it  after  her  with  any  messenger  that  should  arrive,  and  then,  getting 
into  a hansom,  drove  rapidly  off  to  Mrs.  Paynter’s. 

Lizzie’s  astonishment  knew  no  bounds  when  her  visitor  was  announced,  but  she 
sprang  up  to  receive  her  with  genuine  pleasure. 

“ I knew  I was  right,”  thought  Lizzie ; “ if  the  whole  story  had  not  been  a dreadful 
calumny,  she  wouldn’t  have  come  to  see  me.” 

“ My  dear  Cissy ! ” she  exclaimed,  seizing  her  visitor  by  both  hands,  “ I am  charmed 
to  see  you.  You  so  persistently  refused  to  have  anything  to  say  or  to  do  with  me 
before  you  ran,  — I mean  left  town,  that  I could  only  infer  I had  offended  you  in 
some  way.” 

“ It  may  be  you  had,”  replied  Cissy,  quietly  releasing  herself ; “ we  ’will  come  to  that 
presently.  I want  to  have  a talk  with  you.” 

“ With  pleasure  One  moment,  while  I tell  them  I am  not  at  home ; ” and  Lizzie 
rang  and  gave  the  answering  footman  the  necessary  instructions.  u There,  now  I am 
at  your  disposal  until  luncheon,  for  which  the  court  must  adjourn,  you  know,  and  then 
I’m  ready  to  gossip  again  till  dinner-time.” 

“ I’m  in  slight  humor  for  gossip,”  replied  Cissy.  “ Do  you  know  that  my  husband 
is  dying ; that  I am  told  it  is  almost  hoping  against  hope  to  think  otherwise  ? ” 

Lizzie  bowed  her  head  in  assent. 

“ And  do  jm  know  what  the  world  has  thought  fit  to  charge  me  with  ? ” continued 
Cissy,  in  the  same  hard,  mechanical  tones  she  had  used  throughout. 

i4  Yes,  I have  heard  it ; and,  as  John  will  tell  you,  have  pronounced  it  a foul  lie  from 
the  beginning,  — a charge  that  you  could  speedily  clear  yourself  of  when  it  came  to  your 
ears ; and  I am  right,  Cissy,  am  I not  ? ” exclaimed  Mrs.  Paynter,  vehemently. 

“ Yes,  thank  you  for  your  belief  in  me.  It  is  something  to  have  had  one  friend  who 
held  me  not  utterly  worthless.” 

“ My  darling ! ” cried  Mrs.  Paynter,  impulsively,  “ that  there  was  someth’ ng  wrong 

16 


224 


Two  Kisses. 


between  you  and  Montie,  I kae  w ; but  that  what  was  said  of  you  was  false  I could 
swear.” 

A jealous  twinge  ran  through  Cissy  at  nearing  her  husoand  so  familiarly  alluded  to, 
but  she  gulped  it  down  determinedly,  and  in  the  same  calm,  steady  voice  said : — 

“ Did  you  ever  guess  what  was  wrong  between  Montague  and  me  ? ” 

“ I think  so,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  softly. 

“What?” 

“ This  is  not  quite  a fair  question,  Cissy.  I may  be  mistaken,  you  know,  and  my 
•uimise  might  only  make  you  angry.  I can  see  quite  clearly  that  you  have  something 
against  me  as  it  is,  and  mark  me,  I want  to  know  what  ? ” 

For  a moment  Mrs.  Gore  eyed  her  hostess  keenly,  and  then  said  slowly : — 

“You  are  sure  of  that  ? ” 

“ Quite,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  nestling  still  further  into  the  embraces  of  the 
luxuriant  arm-chair  in  which  she  was  seated. 

“ Then,  before  we  come  to  that,  you  must  tell  me  what  you  think  Montague  and  I 
quarrelled  about.  Afterwards,  as  you  happen  to  be  mixed  up  in  it,  I will  tell  you  why 
I left  him.” 

“ Me ! — I have  anything  to  do  with  your  running  off  to  Brompton-super-Mare  ? ” 
exclaimed  Lizzie,  with  unfeigned  surprise. 

“ You  wrill  see ; answer  my  question.” 

“ I thought  this,  although  you  didn’t  quite  know  it,  my  dear,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter, 
not  without  a soupcon  of  malice  in  her  voice,  — “ you  had  just  fallen  madly  in  love  with 
your  husband.  He  expostulated  with  you  about  some  queer  acquaintance  you  had,  — 
a relic,  I suppose,  of  your  old  Paris  days,  — and  in  your  anger  at  finding  your  love  so 
little  understood  and  believed  in,  you  took  high  dudgeon,  and  wont  off  with  your  maid.” 

Cissy  blushed  crimson  at  finding  that  her  secret  had  been  so  cleverly  read ; that  this 
great  love  of  hers  had  been  patent  to  her  friend,  even  before  she  was  aware  of  it  herself.  . 

“ You’re  right  in  part ; but  only  in  part.  That  I love  my  husband  passionately,  I 
am  proud  to  avow.  I left  him,  as  I thought,  upon  much  stronger  grounds  than  those.” 

Lizzie’s  open  blue  eyes  and  eager  face  expressed  how  interested  she  felt  in  the 
coming  revelation. 

“ Do  you  remember  going  to  see  my  husband  at  his  chambers  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Gore. 

Lizzie  could  not  repress  a slight  start.  She  had  deemed  that  a circumstance  utterly 
unknown  to  her  visitor. 

“ You  do,  I see ; and  you  probably  remember  all  that  took  place  there,”  continued 
Cissy. 

“ Ah ! you  saw  that  interview,  then,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  nestling  once  more  into 
the  depths  of  her  chair,  with  apparently  intense  enjoyment.  She  felt  quite  easy  now 
she  knew  where  the  attack  was  to  be  made,  she  knew  how  facile  it  was  to  explain  it  all; 
but  she  had  hardly  been  woman  if  she  had  not  determined  that  Cissy  should  be  exer* 
cised  a little  upon  what  she  considered  must  have  been  unfairly  acquired  knowledge. 

“ I saw  the  finish  of  it,  at  all  events,”  returned  Mrs.  Gore,  with  some  asperity. 


225 


Analyzing  a Kiss. 

“ Where  were  you  ? ” inquired  Lizzie,  with  a naivett  almost  ludicrous. 

“ That  matters  little.  I wish  you  to  explain  why  you  went  there.” 

“ To  see  Montie  Gore,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  maliciously.  “ But  where  were  you  ? 
Did  he  know  you  were  there  ? ” 

“ Will  you  tell  me  why  you  were  there  ? ” asked  Cissy  again,  with  a decided  tremor 
in  her  voice. 

“ In  your  interest,  my  dear;  and  I fancy  I served  you  pretty  well,  although  has 
all  come  about  in  a very  different  manner  from  that  I intended.” 

“ Do  you  understand  that  I saw  all  that  took  place  between  you  and  my  husband  ? ' 
exclaimed  Cissy,  passionately. 

Mrs.  Paynter  gave  a quick  little  nod  of  assent,  and  then  became,  to  all  intents,  lost 
in  admiration  of  the  lace  of  her  pocket-handkerchief. 

“ You  understand  this,”  continued  Cissy,  in  quick,  vehement  tones ; “ and  you  think 
I am  fool  enough  to  believe  that  you  were  studying  my  interests  in  stealing  my  hus- 
band’s love  from  me ! ” 

“ I what  ? ” interrupted  Mrs.  Paynter,  with  great  elevation  of  her  eyebrows. 

“Did  your  best  to  steal  my  husband’s  love  from  me,”  reiterated  Cissy,  hotly; 
“ how  far  you  have  been  successful  I dare  hardly  think.  I know  I have  been  a fool ; 
that  I have  been  induced  to  withhold  from  him  a confidence  I should  not ; that  I have 
tried  his  love  hardly.  Surely  he  did  love  me  once.  Was  it  for  you,  who  I believed 
my  friend,  to  take  advantage  of  our  misunderstanding,  — to  snatch  at  what  I in  my 
madness  had  treated  with  disdain  ? God  help  me ! Lizzie,  but  I had  deemed  you  true 
to  me,  at  all  events.”  A slight  sob  shook  Cissy’s  voice  as  she  finished ; and  even  the 
arch-coquette  opposite  her  felt  a little  uncomfortable  as  she  witnessed  her  visitor’s 
unmistakable  emotion;  but  Lizzie  was  determined  to  play  her  game  out  for  more 
reasons  than  one. 

“ An  ugly  vice  that  jealousy,”  thought  Mrs.  Paynter;  “ a sharp  lesson  will  benefit 
you,  my  dear ;”  and  then  the  vivacious  lady,  who,  good-natured  though  she  was,  had 
a slight  dash  of  the  cat  in  her  disposition,  could  not  forbear  the  pleasure  of  teasing 
her  friend  just  a little  longer. 

“ I really  don’t  know  what  you  mean,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  at  length. 

“ Don’t  equivocate,”  returned  Mrs.  Gore,  fiercely.  “ I saw  Montague  kiss  you  with 
my  own  eyes.” 

“ Ah  1 it  was  very  lucky  you  did,  you  know.” 

“ What ! ” cried  Cissy,  starting  to  her  feet. 

" VeiT  lucky,”  returned  Mrs.  Paynter,  demurely.  “ You  would  never  have  found 
out  you  loved  your  husband  if  you  hadn’t.  There,  sit  down,  do,  and  I will  tell  you 
all  about  it.  I’m  tired  of  teasing  you,  you  foolish  child ! ” 

Cissy  dropped  once  more  into  her  chair,  and  stared  through  her  wet  lashes  in  mute 
astonishment  at  her  tormentor. 

Mrs.  Paynter  had  not  quite  meant  to  let  her  off  so  cheaply;  but  Cissy  was  so  evh 
dently  in  such  sore  distress  that  her  better  nature  overcame  her  love  of  fun. 


Two  Kisses. 


826 

“Yon  saw  Montague  kiss  Due,”  she  said,  after  a short  pause;  “well,  I’ll  own  to 
to  you,  in  the  first  place,  I do  not  think  he  could  have  well  helped  it.  It  is  possible, 
my  dear,  to  put  a man  in  such  a situation  that,  unless  he’s  an  utter  barbarian,  he  can 
do  no  less.  Montague,  not  being  an  irreclaimable  savage,  bowed  to  circumstances. 
Do  you  understand  that  ? ” 

“ No,”  returned  Cissy,  shortly. 

“ Did  you  see  how  it  came  about  ? ” 

“ I fancy  so.” 

“ I don’t  think  you  did  quite.  Well,  as  I said  before,  it  was  my  caprice  of  the 
minute  to  make  your  husband  kiss  me.  Without  being  veiy  gauche  he  could  hardly 
have  done  otherwise.  What  did  it  mean  ? About  as  much  as  if  he  had  shaken  hanils 
with  me.  No  colder  kiss  was  ever  laid  on  woman’s  cheek.  I had  brought  him  what 
he  deemed  very  good  news.  I had  poured  balm  into  a bleeding  wound,  ma  mie,  that 
you  refused  to  bind  up.  It  was  my  whim,  never  mind  why,  to  have  a kiss  for  my  fee. 
You  needn’t  look  anxious,  I’ve  no  wish  to  repeat  the  experiment.  Being  kissed  by 
a statue  is  all  I can  compare  it  to ; and  if  you  think  we  are  the  least  bit  in  love 
with  each  other,  you  mistake.  Come,  I’ll  confess  I’d  just  a tiny  bit  of  pique  to 
gratify.” 

“ But  still,  what  led  you  to  go  down  to  his  chambers  ? ” 

“ Because  I wanted  to  see  him,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  with  a little  grimace. 

“ But  why  didn’t  you  call  in  Park  Crescent  ? ” persisted  Cissy. 

“ Because,  you  noodle,  I wanted  to  see  him  alone ; because  I wanted  to  explain  to 
him  that  he  was  laboring  under  an  egregious  misconception.” 

“ What  was  that  ? ” 

Mrs.  Paynter’s  blue  eyes  sparkled  mischievously. 

“ I wanted  to  tell  him  something  that  you  wouldn’t;  something  that  he  was  fretting 
his  heart  to  know.  Can  you  guess  what  it  was,  Cissy  ? ” 0 

Cissy’s  face  flushed  rosy-red.  She  answered  nothing,  but  looked  mutely  at  her 
friend. 

“ Well,  what  I did  tell  him  was  this : That  his  wife  loved  him  very  dearly,  and  that 
he  was  making  a very  great  mistake  in  supposing  she  didn’t ; and  that  I was  getting 
quite  wretched  at  seeing  two  people,  whom  I knew  to  be  really  attached  to  each  other, 
drifting  apart  from  some  miserable  misunderstanding  that  I was  unable  to  fathom.  I 
know,”  continued  Mrs.  Paynter,  with  mock  humility,  “ that  I did  very  wrong ; one 
should  never  interfere  between  husband  and  wife.  John  told  me  so,  and  John’s 
always  right.  Can  you  forgive  me  ? ”• 

“ Forgive  you ! ” cried  Cissy,  springing  from  her  seat,  crossing  and  throwing  her 
arms  round  her  friend.  “ Can  you  forgive  me,  Lizzie,  for  having  so  cruelly  doubted 
you  ? If  I had  never  come  to  Montague’s  chambers  that  morning,  I should  have 
saved  both  myself  and  him  much  misery ; looking  back,  I understand  it  all  now.  I 
comprehend  all  his  efforts  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  me ; how  patient  he  was 
mder  my  coldness  and  insolence;  I,  at  the  time,  thinking  I was  doubly  betrayed; 


22' 


Analyzing  a Kiss. 

wronged  by  my  friend,  wronged  by  my  husband ! the  dupe,  the  mere  cat’s-paw  of  you 
both.  Fool  that  I was  ! And  yet,  Lizzie,  I had  some  slight  excuse,  — that  scene  had 
made  most  wives  jealous.” 

Yes,”  replied  Lizzie,  “ but  who  was  to  guess  you  were  looking  on  ? ” 

“ If  I looked,  I suffered,”  replied  Cissy,  simply. 

“ I’m  afraid  you  did ; and  was  that  the  reason  you  took  yourself  off  to  Brompton- 
super-Mare  ? ” 

Cissy  nodded. 

“ Ah,  well ! I think  I’ll  never  plot  again.  It’s  all  very  well  for  the  dramatists,  who 
can  settle  their  last  act  beforehand ; but  in  real  life  our  dramas  don’t  quite  come  off 
as  we  intend  them.  But,  Cissy,  are  you  sure  you  have  quite  got  over  it  ? ” 

“ Got  over  what  ? ” 

“ The  — the  — you  know.” 

“ I don’t.” 

“ Well,  that  kiss,”  said  Mrs.  Paynter,  her  eyes  dancing  with  fun.  “ It  was  a very 
wee  one,  you  know,  because  you  saw  it.” 

“ Yes,  I forgive  Montague,  because  I believe  such  temptation  to  be  beyond  man’s 
strength,”  replied  Cissy,  smiling,  “ when  you  play  temptress.” 

“ That’s  not  forgiving  me,”  laughed  Lizzie. 

“ No ; but  I can  afford  to  forgive  you  in  one  sense.  You  did  deserve  it  for  what 
you  tried  to  bring  about.” 

“ And  why  not  pardon  me  altogether  ? ” asked  Mrs.  Paynter,  curiously 
“ You  couldn’t  expect  me  to.” 

“ But  why  ? ” 

A gleam  of  the  old  humor  flashed  over  Cissy’s  face  as,  putting  her  lips  down  to 
Mrs.  Paynter’s  ear,  she  whispered:  — 

“ You  can’t  expect  me  to  forgive  you  for  not  appreciating  what  you  got,  you  know. 
I consider  them  valuable.” 

“ It’s  all  very  well,”  laughed  Mrs.  Paynter.  “ I’m  afraid  these  men  are  all  alike, 
and,  after  the  manner  of  dishonest  tradesmen,  keep  them  of  two  qualities.” 

“ I must  go,  Lizzie.  You  have  taken  a load  off  my  heart ; but  I am  in  sad  trouble 
still.” 

“ Of  course,  you  must  be,”  replied  Mrs.  Paynter,  suddenly  sobered,  as  she  thought 
of  poor  Montague  battling  for  life.  “ Hope  for  the  best,  Cissy.  I know,  poor 
fellow,  he  hangs  between  life  and  death ; still,  though  I don’t  know  why,  I have  a 
presentiment  he  will  pull  through,  and  that  there  are  many  happy  years  in  store 
for  you.” 

“ That  he  should  die  and  never  know  the  truth  about  me  is  what  seems  to  me  so 
terrible,”  replied  Cissy,  tearfully. 

“ You  mustn’t  think  of  that.  I’m  anxious  almost  as  you  can  be,  and  send  every 
morning  to  inquire.  Good-by,  my  darling,”  and,  with  a warm  embrace,  the  two 
reconciled  friends  separated. 


Two  Kisses. 


CHAPTER  XLH. 

THE  MAJOR  DOES  HIS  DUTY  BY  ROXBY. 

Major  Jenkens,  as  we  have  heard,  was  out  of  town.  Unfortunately,  too,  foi 
Cissy,  on  his  return  next  morning,  he  drove  straight  to  his  office  in  John  street 
instead  of  to  his  chambers  in  Charles  street,  Berkeley  square.  The  major  had  been 
down  to  confer  with  one  of  his  principal  employers,  to  receive  final  instructions  on  a 
rather  delicate  piece  of  business,  which  that  worthy  had  thought  fit  to  confide 
to  him. 

Of  all  his  employers,  of  all  the  men  he  had  ever  been  engaged  in  business  or 
nefarious  transactions  with,  this  man  Simmonds  was  the  only  one  for  whom  the  major 
had  conceived  a positive  awe.  Of  him  he  had  almost  a superstitious  dread.  He  had 
witnessed  so  much  of  Mr.  Simmonds’  malevolence,  been  so  astonished  at  his  multi- 
plicity of  resource,  at  the  boundless  information  he  appeared  to  procure,  that  the 
major  had  registered  a solemn  vow  always  to  be  perfectly  straightforward  in  all  deal- 
ings between  them.  He  was  the  one  man  Claxby  Jenkens  owned  he  dared  not 
quarrel  with ; the  one  man  he  never  attempted  to  get  the  best  of. 

Roxby,  he  admitted,  was  clever,  very  clever,  — not  easy  by  any  means  to  get  the 
weather-gauge  of  Roxby.  That  eminent  financier  had  proved  too  many  for  him 
more  than  once ; but  still,  give  him  a sufficiently  strong  hand,  and  the  major  was 
ready  to  fight  his  battle  over  again  with  Roxby  at  any  time. 

With  Simmonds  it  was  different.  He  felt  that  the  truculent  money-lender  was  too 
much  for  him,  too  cunning  of  fence  for  him  to  venture  to  cross  swords  with.  Claxby 
Jenkens  was  too  astute  a man  to  overrate  his  own  capabilities,  and  he  acknowledged 
that  Simmonds  was  beyond  him. 

Mr.  Simmonds,  it  may  be  remembered,  was  the  principal  holder  of  that  luckless 
insolvent  Detfield’s  bills.  If  there  was  one  point  on  which  Mr.  Simmonds  was  per- 
fectly inflexible  it  was  the  having  his  own  again,  with  all  the  profits  accruing  from 
the  lending  of  money  upon  doubtful  security.  In  Captain  Detfield’s  case,  that,  at 
present,  looked  far  from  hopeful ; at  all  events,  for  a considerable  period. 

Mr.  Simmonds,  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  own  mind,  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  possible  to  procure  a settlement  of  this  most  unpromising  account  very 
speedily.  Pressure,  no  doubt,  would  have  to  be  applied,  and  it  was  manifest  that  it 
was  useless  to  exercise  it  further  on  the  guardsman  himself. 

“ Necessary,”  argued  Mr.  Simmonds,  “ to  squeeze  somebody  in  his  behalf,  and,  as 
luck  will  have  it,  I fancy  I can  give  a turn  of  the  screw  to  some  one  who  has  it 
within  his  power  to  put  things  straight  for  the  captain.  We  will  see.” 

He  had  one  or  two  conferences  with  the  major  on  this  point,  and  finally  he  asked 
him  down  to  dine  and  sleep,  at  a small  villa  he  owned  at  Medenham,  to  talk  it  over 


The  Major  Does  His  Duty  by  Roxby. 


229 


for  the  last  time.  Do  not  think  that  the  usurer  had  any  admiration  for  the  silver 
Thames,  and  the  lovely  sceneiy  of  its  banks,  — he  was  dead  to  all  such  feelings  as  an 
oyster.  He  had  got  the  cottage  in  part  payment  of  a bad  debt,  and  thought,  having 
failed  to  let  it,  that  he  might  as  well  live  in  it  for  the  summer  months. 

The  major  had  returned  to  town,  highly  jubilant.  He  was  instructed  to  have 
another  little  game  with  his  friend  Roxby,  and  Mr.  Simmonds  had  furnished  him  with 
a trump  or  two,  that  he  flattered  himself  would  considerably  astonish  that  gentleman. 

Having  deposited  his  travelling-bag,  and  looked  through  his  letters  in  John  street, 
the  major  jumped  into  a cab,  and  drove  off  to  Eenchurch  street.  He  sent  up  his 
card,  and  the  busy  financier  received  it  with  more  attention  than  he  had  done  Det- 
field’s.  He  had  little  time  to  wait  before  a clerk  intimated  that  Mr.  Roxby  would 
see  him. 

“ Good-morning,  Jenkens ; sit  down  and  let’s  know  what  it  is  you’ve  come  about,” 
said  Roxby,  cheerfully,  as  he  extended  his  hand.  “ No  need  to  tell  you  that  time  is 
always  precious  in  these  parts.” 

“ I know,”  replied  the  major,  tersely,  as  he  seated  himself.  “ You  must  spare  me 
a few  minutes,  though,  all  the  same.  I’ve  come  down  on  Simmonds’  behalf.  You 
know  he  holds  some  stiffish  bills  of  Captain  Detfield’s  ? ” 

“ Of  course  I do,”  replied  Roxby,  as  an  evil  expression  came  over  his  countenance. 
“ It  was  I recommended  him  to  stand  no  more  nonsense  about  them,  but  to  have  his 
money,  or  push  things  to  extremities.” 

“ But,”  said  the  major,  diffidently,  “ you  surely  didn’t  imagine  that  Detfield  could 

pay  ? ” 

“ I knew,  sir,  that  if  he  hadn’t  been  a puritanical,  insolent  young  prig,  he  could 
have  paid,  and  that  he  deserved  to  feel  that  he  was  not  quite  his  own  master,” 
returned  Roxby,  savagely. 

“ Still  you  were  quite  aware  that  Simmonds’  chance  of  getting  his  money  was  not  im- 
proved by  such  proceedings,”  observed  the  major,  blandly,  as  he  adjusted  his  spectacles. 

“ That’s  as  may  be;  but  you  see,  my  dear  Jenkens,  whether  Simmonds  gets  his 
money  or  not  is  a matter  that  don’t  very  much  concern  me.” 

“ Hum ! I don’t  know.  Simmonds  is  a little  sore  about  your  advice ; says  you 
misled  him,  to  gratify  some  private  pique  of  your  own.  Dangerous  man  to  quarrel 
with,  don’t  you  think  ? ” 

“ I’ll  tell  you  what  I think,”  replied  Roxby,  suavely,  — “ that  our  mutual  friend  Sim- 
monds never  took  advice  from  any  one  that  his  own  judgment  didn’t  indorse.  If  he 
followed  my  hint,  it  was  because  he  thought  it  seemed  to  offer  the  best  chance  of 
recouping  himself.” 

“Well,  he  has  got  another  idea  in  his  head  now.  He  has  heard  all  about  Detfield’s 
engagement  to  your  ward ; of  course  he  sees  if  that  marriage  comes  off,  he  would  be 
tolerably  certain  to  get  his  money  at  once.” 

" Ah,  you  had  better  tell  him  not  to  speculate  on  improbabilities,”  rejoined  Roxby, 
with  an  ironical  smile. 


230 


Two  Kisses. 


“ That’s  just  where  it  is,  — he  insists  that,  if  you  would  only  give  your  consent,  it 
might  take  place  in  a few  weeks.” 

'‘Then  you  had  better  inform  him,  my  dear  Jenkens,  that  I never  give  anything 
away  for  nothing,  except  my  blessing,”  replied  Roxby,  in  the  most  unctuous  tones ; 
“ and  tell  him,  moreover,  that  if  I had  not  depended  upon  a blundering  confederate 
to  pick  a suitable  partner  for  her,  my  charming  ward  would  have  been  married  tome 
weeks  back.” 

“ I did  my  best,”  said  the  major,  deprecatingly. 

u Dear  me,”  replied  Itoxby,  rubbing  his  hanpls,  softly,  “ to  think  of  a man  of  the 
world  like  you  being  so  deceived ! Of  course,  it  is  impossible  for  any  guardian  to 
give  his  consent  to  a wealthy  ward’s  marriage  with  a broken-down  spendthrift.  I 
cannot  countenance  anything  so  preposterous ; no,  not  even  to  oblige  my  dear  friend 
Simmonds.” 

“ You  won’t  think  me  taking  a liberty,”  said  the  major,  with  an  accession  of  ner- 
vousness and  humility  that  should  have  put  his  imperious  companion  on  his  guard, 
“ if  I point  out  something  to  you.” 

“ Oh,  dear,  no,”  replied  Itoxby,  with  a benignant  smile,  “ unless  you  are  about  to 
indicate  another  wooer  for  Miss  Stanbury . You  can’t  expect  me  to  believe  in  your 
selections,  after  the  precious  mess  you’ve  made  of  things  so  far ; ” and,  in  spite  of  his 
smile,  there  was  a vindictive  gleam  in  the  financier’s  eyes  as  he  concluded. 

“ No ; I was  about  to  point  out  that  you  can  hardly  hope  to  make  money  of  the 
disposal  of  your  ward’s  hand  in  future.” 

“ Who  told  you,  sir,  that  I ever  contemplated  such  a rascally  arrangement  ? ” 
returned  Itoxby,  loftily. 

The  major  deliberately  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  stared  at  his  companion.  It 
was  a bit  of  hardiesse , of  impudent  effrontery  after  his  own  heart.  He  saw  that  the 
financier  deemed  it  possible  he  did.  not  know  the  exact  truth. 

“ Who  told  me  ? ” he  said,  gently,  — “ Captain  Detfield.  What  was  the  price  ? Five 
thousand.  What  was  his  answer  ? Tolerably  personal,  contemptuous,  and  in  the 
negative.  How  do  things  stand  at  present  ? I know  no  more  than  this.  It  is  very 
unlikely  you  will  be  able  to  induce  Miss  Stanbury  to  accept  any  one  else  for  a hus- 
band before  she  is  twenty-one.  Conclusion,  your  ward’s  hand  is  no  longer  sala- 
ble.” 

“ Ha ! that  is  the  way  our  bankrupt  young  friend  accounts  for  his  repulse,  is  it  ? 
A venomous  young  scorpion,  who  would  blacken  respectable  people’s  characters,  eh  ? 
And  you  think  this  an  additional  reason  why  I should  oblige  Simmonds  ? Jenkens, 
my  worthy  friend,  you  grow  old,  to  put  it  mildly.  You  showed  unmistakable  signs 
of  approaching  your  dotage  when  you  selected  Captain  Detfield  as  a fit  husband  for 
my  ward.” 

“ Did  I ? ” returned  the  major,  quietly ; though  there  was  a contraction  of  the 
muscles  about  his  mouth  that  augured  he  was  not  insensible  to  Hoxby’s  taunts.  “ I 
Venture  to  remark  your  instructions  were  not  sufficiently  explicit.” 


The  Major  Does  His  Duty  by  Roxby.  231 

“Clear  enough  to  any  one  with  average  comprehension,”  replied  Roxby,  con- 
temptuously. 

“ No,  when  you  wanted  a thorough  blackguard,  why  couldn’t  you  say  so  ? they’re 
by  no  means  scarce.” 

“ Enough’  of  this,”  cried  Roxby,  in  a voice  thick  with  passion.  “ Whatever  I 
wanled,  I did  not  want  a nincompoop  as  confederate.  Further  discussion  is  useless. 
I have  lots  to  do.” 

“ I must  trespass  a few  minutes  more  on  your  time,  nevertheless ; we  have  a little 
wandered  from  the  point.  Simmonds,  anxious  to  recover  his  money,  wishes  you  to 
give  your  consent  to  this  marriage.” 

“ And  as  I don’t  care  a rush  whether  Simmonds  recovers  his  money  or  not,  I shall 
do  nothing  of  the  kind.  There  is  no  more  to  be  said,”  and  Mr.  Roxby  threw  himself 
back  in  his  chair  with  the  air  of  a man  wearied  by  a fruitless  discussion. 

“ A dangerous  man  to  offend,  Simmonds,”  observed  the  major,  dryly. 

“ No  doubt,  if  your  head  is  under  his  belt,  as  Detfield’s  happens  to  be ; but  you  see 
I chance  to  be  quite  as  big,  I might  say  a bigger  man  than  Simmonds  in  the  city. 
An  ill-disposed  money-lender  is  a bugbear  I can  afford  to  laugh  at.  He  neithei 
holds  nor  is  likely  to  hold  bills  of  mine.  Now,  I really  have  a lot  of  business  to  get 
through.” 

“ Then  I may  tell  him  that  is  your  fixed  determination,”  said  the  major,  rising. 

“ Most  certainly.” 

“ It’s  an  odd  coincidence  after  what  you’ve  said,”  observed  the  major,  carefully 
flicking  some  dust  from  his  hat  with  his  pocket-handkerchief;  “but  Simmonds 
happened  to  mention  he  held  a bill  of  yours  for  two  thousand.” 

“ He  hold  a bill  of  mine  ! ” ejaculated  Roxby,  with  evident  astonishment. 

“ Yes ; accepted  by  old  Muddlehurst.  However,  you  needn’t  trouble  your  head 
about  it;  Simmonds  is  not  uneasy.  He  knows  your  name’s  good  enough,  to  say 
nothing  of  having  Muddlehurst’s  at  the  back.  He’s  not  afraid  but  what  it  will  be 
met  when  due.  It  was  only  then  it  struck  me  as  odd  when  you  said  he  would  never 
hold  a bill  of  yours.  Good-by.” 

*•  Stop  a moment.  How  did  that  bill  come  into  Simmonds’  hands  ? ” and  an  acute 
observer  might  have  detected  a slight  shade  of  anxiety  in  Roxby’s  tone.  “ Graves 
and  Downham,  who  always  discount  my  paper  as  they  do  hundreds  of  others,  are 
celebrated  for  being  close  men,  who  hold  it  themselves  till  due.  They  owe  half  their 
business  to  that  one  thing.  Men  engaged  in  as  many  financial  schemes  as  I am 
don’t  like  their  bills  hawked  about  the  market.  We  pay  a shade  more  to  Graves  and 
Downham  for  that  veiy  reason.” 

“ Of  course,  I know  all  that ; but  it  seems  they  have  just  taken  in  a new  partner. 
He,  seeing  the  firm  rather  pressed,  thought  there  could  be  no  harm  in  circulating  a 
few  of  the  best  bills  they  had  in  hand.  A mistake,  of  course.” 

“ It’s  an  infamous  breach  of  faith,”  exclaimed  Roxby,  angrily. 

“Well,  it  is  rather;  but  it  can’t  matte*  to  you,  of  course,”  and  as  he  spoke  he 


232 


Two  Kisses. 


eyed  his  companion  keenly  from  beneath  hi9  spectacles.  The  major  rejoiced  in  the 
conviction  that  he  was  about  to  do  his  duty  towards  his  neighbor  in  a somewhat  satis 
factory  fashion. 

“ No ; though  that  doesn’t  make  it  any  the  less  a scandalous  piece  of  work  on  the 
part  of  Graves  and  Downham,”  retorted  Roxby,  with  evident  uneasiness. 

“ Well,  good-by,”  said  the  major,  as  he  turned  towards  the  door;  “I  mustn’t  take 
up  any  more  of  your  time.  I shouldn’t  like  to  quarrel  with  Simmonds  myself, 
especially  when  you’ve  nothing  to  get  by  it.  He’s  a dangerous  enemy;  but,  of 
course,  you  know  your  own  affairs  best.” 

“ Good-by,”  replied  lloxby,  shortly. 

But  the  major  was  not  gone  yet ; he  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  door,  and  then,  as 
if  it  had  just  occurred  to  him,  exclaimed : — 

“ By  the  way,  Muddlehurst’s  been  veiy  ill  lately,  hasn’t  he  ? ” 

“ Not  that  I’m  aware.  Whaf  makes  you  ask  ? ” 

“Oh,  nothing.  Simmonds  thought  his  signature  looked  wonderfully  shaky, 
that’s  all.” 

Roxby’s  florid  face  blanched,  his  lips  trembled,  and  his  hands  toyed  nervously  with 
the  pen  they  had  taken  up.  The  two  men  had  changed  parts ; it  was  Roxby  now 
who  was  the  irresolute,  hesitating  mac.  As  for  the  major,  his  face  was  set  hard,  his 
lips  were  compressed,  and  his  dark  eyes  gleamed  beneath  his  spectacles  with  that 
cruel,  savage  light  you  may  see  in  a cat’s  eyes  before  she  springs. 

“ What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ? ” stammered  Roxby,  at  last. 

“ What  do  I mean  ? ” he  said,  in  a deep,  low  voice,  as  he  walked  swiftly  from 
the  dor  r,  placed  his  hands  upon  the  desk,  and  leaned  over  the  cowering  coward  seated 
behind  it.  “ I mean  this,  — that  Simmonds  doesn’t  believe  Muddlehurst  ever  signed 
his  na  'ne  to  that  bill ; is  so  doubtful  of  the  fact,  indeed,  that  he  means  to  ask  him 
the  question  to-morrow.” 

“ Spare  me ! Tell  him  I can  and  will  meet  it,  so  help  me  God.  It  will  ruin  me  if 
he  makes  inquiries ; ” and  the  wretched  forger  dropped  his  head  upon  his  hands 
and  literally  grovelled  before  his  antagonist. 

The  major  contemplated  him  for  a moment  with  cynical  contempt.  He  despised 
utterly  a man  who  could  not  face  the  consequences  of  his  misdeeds  with  perfect 
coolness.  The  major  reckoned  courage,  or,  as  he  would  have  termed  it,  “ pluck,” 
one  of  the  highest  of  human  attributes.  If,  like  the  wolf,  you  live  by  rapine,  it 
behoves  you  to  die  like  the  wolf,  mutely  fighting,  when  your  time  comes.  Such  was 
the  major’s  pagan  creed,  and  he  faced  the  consequences  of  his  own  escapes  ever  with 
the  utmost  hardihood. 

“ Ruin  you ! ” he  said,  at  length.  “ If  what  we  suspect  is  true,  it  wouIcT  be  twenty 
years’  penal  servitude  for  you  at  least,  my  friend.  Stop!  hold  your  tongue!”  he 
cried,  seeing  that  Roxby  was  about  to  speak.  “ We  don’t  know,  mind,  ttjai  it  is  not 
Muddlehurst’s  signature ; and,  providing  you  do  what  you’re  told,  we  don’t  want  to 
know.  You’ll  pay  when  the  time  comes,  somehow  or  other,  we’ve  no  doubt,  and  if 


233 


The  Major  Does  His  Duty  by  Roxby. 

you  did  not,  Simmonds  would  not  lose  over  it.  Graves  and  Downham  would  have  to 
make  it  good.  But,  mark  me,  you  will  do  what  we  wish,  or  — ” 

Roxby  raised  his  face  inquiringly. 

“We  shall  make  inquiries  of  Muddlehurst,”  concluded  the  major,  dryly. 

The  utter  collapse  of  the  specious  scoundrel  was  almost  painful  to  witness.  He  was 
but  as  dough  now  in  the  hands  of  his  iron  adversary.  The  major  was  quite  put  out 
at  finding  himself  pitted  against  so  flaccid  a foe.  He  could  not  help  marvelling  how 
he  had  ever  allowed  such  a craven  to  get  the  best  of  him. 

For  once  in  his  life  he  had  been  most  thoroughly  deceived  in  his  estimate  of  his 
neighbor.  He  had  deemed  Roxby  as  hard  and  unscrupulous  a rascal  as  it  was  possible 
to  meet.  As  he  said  afterwards  to  his  employer : — 

“ I did  think  he’d  have  shown  fight,  but  he  gave  in  without  a ghost  of  a struggle.” 
“ What  is  it  you  want  of  me  ? ” inquired  the  utterly  broken-down  financier  humbly 
at  length.  “ I am  in  your  hands  to  write,  sign,  or  do  what  you  will.” 

“ You’re  so  far  lucky  that  we  don’t  want  much  of  you,”  returned  the  major.  “ You 
will  write  at  once  to  Miss  Stanbury  to  say  you  regret  you  have  been  mistaken  in  your 
opinion  of  Captain  Detfield’s  character ; that  you  have  been  misinformed ; that  he  may 
have  been  a little  imprudent,  like  other  young  men,  but  has  doubtless  seen  his  folly ; 
has  had  a severe  lesson,  in  short ; and,  as  you  find  your  ward’s  feelings  are  really 
involved,  you  have  no  hesitation  about  giving  your  consent.  There,  you  know  the 
sort  of  letter  to  write  well  enough.  To  do  you  justice,  nobody  understands  the 
intensely  plausible  business  better  than  you  do.” 

“ What  else  ? ” 

“ Nothing  beyond  a note  to  me  to  say  that  you  have  done  so.  You  get  off  cheap ; 
it  will  cost  you  nothing,  but  swallowing  a little  ill-temper  with  regard  to  Detfield, 
whom,  of  course,  we  shall  stay  all  proceedings  against.” 

“ It  shall  be  done,”  replied  Roxby,  in  a low  voice ; “ but  what  security  am  I to  have 
that  all  shall  end  here  ? ” 

“ None,  — you’re  in  no  position  to  demand  any ; but  you  may  rest  assured,  that  as 
long  as  you  meet  this  bill  when  due,  and  throw  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  this  mar- 
riage, you  are  perfectly  safe.  And  now,  once  more,  good-by.” 

“ Good-by,”  said  Roxby,  faintly. 

But  again  did  the  major  turn  with  his  hand  on  the  door. 

“ One  bit  of  advice  before  I go.  I don’t  recommend  you  either  to  delay  or  humbug 
about  that  letter,  because  I shall  know  the  truth  almost  immediately.  And,  further, 
I’d  advise  you  to  be  straight  in  your  dealings  in  future ; you  haven’t  pluck  to  turn 
rogue  successfully.”  With  which  parting  shot  the  major  jubilantly  closed  the  doc/ 
behind  him.  He  had  done  his  duty  by  Roxby  at  last. 

As  for  the  latter,  he  remained  long  seated  at  his  desk,  struggling  with  the  contending 
passions  of  rage  and  fear ; furious  at  the  idea  that  he  must  succumb  to  Detfield,  the 
man  who  has  told  him  without  scruple  that  he  was  a scoundrel ; furious  at  the  thought 
«f  that  five  thousand  pounds  which  had  slipped  through  his  fingers;  furious  tb** 


234 


Two  Kisses. 


Claxby  Jenkens,  whom  he  had  long  regarded  as  his  tool,  should  have  suddenly 
developed  into  his  master ; but  too  utterly  cowed  to  think  of  resisting  Simmonds, 
ultimatum . Still  a cowardly  rogue  is  ever  a slippery  customer  to  deal  with,  and  it 
may  be  that  Roxby  will  prove  too  many  for  his  adversaries  yet. 

As  far  as  the  forgery  went,  it  was  by  no  means  his  first  offence.  When  pressed 
for  money  in  his  business,  he  had  often  drawn  bills,  and  written  some  well-known 
city  man’s  name  as  the  endorser.  As  such  bills  had  lain  quietly  at  Graves  and  Down- 
ham’s  till  due,  and  then  been  always  promptly  met,  no  question  had  ever  been  raised 
concerning  them.  But  for  the  mistake  of  a partner,  not  quite,  as  yet,  conversant 
with  the  business  of  the  firm,  that  fatal  note  had  never  been  in  Simmonds’  hands. 

CHAPTER  XLHI. 

MB.  ROXBY’S  CONVERSION. 

Roseneath  House  has  been  somewhat  sad  these  last  few  days.  Bessie  is  in  dire 
tribulation  about  her  lover.  Were  he  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition,  and  liable 
to  be  “ put  to  the  question,”  she  could  scarce  take  a more  gloomy  view  of  his  incar- 
ceration. It  is  natural ; imprisonment  to  the  imagination  of  a girl  of  eighteen,  of 
Bessie’s  class,  is  apt  to  be  associated  with  bolts,  bars,  the  vaulted  cell,  scarce  glimmers 
of  daylight,  fetters,  and  bread  and  water. 

She  thinks  Charlie  and  his  friend,  Fox  Brine,  both  in  league  to  conceal  from  her 
his  sufferings.  She  knows  he  must  be  enduring  hardships  too  dreadful  to  think  of. 
She  is  anxious,  very  anxious,  to  visit  him  in  his  dungeon ; very  emphatic  always  on 
that  epithet  i3  Bessie  in  pleading  with  Miss  Matilda  to  accompany  her  on  this  mission. 
Soft-hearted  Aunt  Clem  sympathizes  thoroughly  with  her  niece ; but  Miss  Matilda  is 
inexorable,  bids  the  girl  have  a little  patience,  and  she  will  find  all  will  come  right. 

“ But  it’s  so  heartless  not  to  go  and  comfort  him,”  cries  Bessie. 

“ Most  unladylike  to  go  trapezing  about  a debtor’s  prison,”  retorts  Miss  Matilda. 

“ A wife  cannot  stop  to  think  of  such  conventionalities  when  her  husband  is  in 
trouble,”  urges  Bessie.  “ And  am  I not,  or  should  I not  be,  the  same  to  him  now  ? ” 

“ It  is  hard  upon  the  child,  Matilda,  not  to  let  her  pay  her  betrothed  one  tiny  visit,” 
interposed  Aunt  Clem. 

“You’re  quite  as  big  a baby  as  she  is,  Clementina,”  replied  Miss  Matilda,  austerely, 
° and  know  nothing  at  all  of  what  is  fitting  under  such  circumstances.  I am  doing 
my  best  both  for  him  and  for  her.” 

Miss  Matilda,  indeed,  had  sundry  long  interviews  with  her  lawyer  at  this  time. 
She  had  desired  him  to  put  himself  in  communication  with  Captain  Detfield’s  man  of 
business,  for  the  chivalrous  old  lady  contemplated  nothing  less  than  that  she  and 
Aunt  Clem  should  discharge  Detfield’s  liabilities,  Bessie  giving  her  an  assurance  that 

•uch  monev  should  be  paid  back  when  she  came  of  age. 


Mr.  Roxby's  Conversion. 


235 


She  had  sai  J nothing  of  this  to  her  sister,  but  she  felt  quite  sure  of  her  acquies- 
cence A3  the  stronger  mind,  she  had  thoroughly  controlled  Miss  Clementina  all 

her  life. 

Mis#  Matilda  was  far  too  good  a woman  of  business  not  to  know  how  worthless  a 
minor’s  guarantee  would  be  in  the  eyes  of  the  law ; hut  she  was  far  too  good  a judge 
of  character  to  doubt  for  one  moment  that  it  would  be  paid  when  Bessie  came  into 
possession  of  her  own.  It  was  due  principally  to  Miss  Matilda’s  business  habits  and 
conservative  tendencies  that  Bessie’s  fortune  had  not  before  this  slipped  through  the 
fingers  of  the  plausible  Roxby. 

Often  had  that  specious  gentleman  urged  upon  his  co-trustee  the  advisability  of 
transferring  Bessie’s  money  into  far  more  profitable  investments,  — pointed  out  the 
absurdity  of  being  content  with  four  per  cent,  when  concerns  returning  six  were 
plentiful  as  blackberries.  But  Miss  Matilda  invariably  quoted  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton’s dictum,  that  high  interest  meant  bad  security,  and  vowed  no  risk  should  be  ran 
with  the  trust  while  she  had  aught  to  say  to  it. 

“ Poor  James  invested  it  carefully  for  his  little  girl,  when  his  health  obliged  him  to 
give  up  business,  and  he  knew  what  he  was  about,”  Miss  Stanbury  would  observe, 
dryly.  “ Let  it  be.” 

The  Stanbuiys  were  of  fair  family.  There  had  been  three  of  them  to  start  with, 
— the  two  maiden  ladies  we  know,  and  a brother,  Bessie’s  father,  long  since  dead. 
They  had  inherited  ten  thousand  pounds  apiece.  The  sisters  lived  quietly  and  com- 
fortably on  the  interest  of  their  money.  The  brother  embarked  in  business,  married, 
had  one  child ; lost  his  wife,  and  then,  having  turned  his  ten  thousand  pounds  into 
thirty,  fell  into  a rapid  consumption,  which  carried  him  off  in  something  less  than 
two  years.  He  left  Bessie,  then  about  ten  years  old,  to  the  joint  guardianship  of  his 
eldest  sister  and  Boxby. 

That  he  had  dealt  in  cheese,  among  other  things,  was  undoubtedly  true ; but  it  had 
been  on  a large  scale,  and  as  a mere  part  of  a large  business,  and  scarce  warranted 
Roxby’s  flippant  assertion  that  he  had  made  his  fortune  “ in  cheese.” 

There  are  coal-dealers  and  coal-dealers,  from  the  Marquis  of  Silkstone,  who  sells 
by  the  hundred  thousand  tons  at  the  pit  mouth,  to  Bob  Ackers,  who  vends  them  by 
the  pound,  or  shovelful,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Newport  Market. 

That  Miss  Matilda  was  engaged  in  come  deep,  mysterious  scheme  of  her  own  was, 
of  course,  palpable  both  to  her  niece  and  sister ; that  it  had  reference  to  helping  the 
lovers  out  of  their  present  embarrassment,  they  had  her  own  word  for,  — the  embar- 
rassment, by  the  way,  Charlie  Detfield’s  solely,  in  reality ; but  then  man’s  embar- 
rassment always  extends  to  the  woman  attached  to  him.  His  male  friends  may 
grieve,  be  sorry  for  him,  but  it  is  the  women  who  carry  sore  hearts  on  such  occasions. 

Poor  Bessie  was  in  no  unmaidenlv  hurry  for  her  marr  age,  but  it  seemed  so  hard 
to  the  frank,  true-hearted  girl,  that  she  could  not  make  use  of  a part  of  all  this  money 
to  free  the  man  she  loved  so  dearly,  from  his  entanglements.  Still,  there  was  the 
she  could  do  nothing ; was  not  even  allowed  to  go  and  see  him  in  his  trouble. 


236 


Two  Kisses. 


It  never  occurred  to  any  of  the  ladies  at  Roseneath  House  that  Clarlie  Detfieh* 
had  been  anything  but  imprudent  and  unfortunate.  They  connected  hi  3 arrest 
vaguely  with  his  quarrel  with  Roxby,  upon  which  occasion  they  considered  he  had 
behaved  “ nobly.”  That  his  difficulties  were  the  result  of  extravagance  and  self- 
indulgence  they  would  have  put  aside,  with  much  disdain,  had  it  been  suggested  to 
them. 

Bessie  and  Aunt  Clem  arc  sitting  rather  moodily  over  their  breakfast,  when  Miss 
Matilda  enters  and  exclaims  : — 

“ Good-morning,  Clementina.  Good-morning,  Bessie.  What  will  you  give  for  my 
news  this  morning  ? ” and  she  waved  a letter  she  held  in  her  hand  triumphantly 
before  them. 

That  Miss  Stanbury  was  the  herald  of  good  tidings,  her  jubilant  manner  left  no 
doubt  about,  and  “ What  is  it  ? ” burst  simultaneously  from  the  lips  of  her  hearers. 

“ Mr.  Roxby  has  taken  his  time  to  reply  to  my  letter,  there’s  no  denying,  but  it 
seems  to  have  had  the  desired  effect  at  last.  There,  Bessie,”  she  continued,  tossing 
the  missive  she  had  flourished  so  ostentatiously,  across  to  her  niece,  “ that’s  his  con- 
sent to  your  marriage.  Now,  you  know,  you  have  only  me  to  deal  with.” 

The  astonishment  of  Aunt  Clem  and  Bessie  was  unbounded ; they  read  the  letter 
twice  over  together  before  they  could  believe  it.  The  major  was  right  when  he  had 
told  the  financier  that  he  was  a master  of  the  plausible  business,  — nothing  could 
have  been  more  suasive,  nothing  more  oily,  so  to  speak,  than  Roxby’s  epistle.  He 
had  embodied  the  major’s  suggestions  in  honeyed  terms,  winding  up  with  an  elabo- 
rate apology  that  too  much  zeal  for  his  ward’s  interests  should  have  betrayed  him 
into  intemperate  language. 

He  could  not  give  better  proof  of  his  penitence,  he  conceived,  than  by  promoting 
as  speedily  as  might  be  the  marriage  which,  under  mistaken  notions,  he  had  so  ran- 
corously,  — yes,  he  must  confess,  rancorously  opposed.  Captain  Detfield’s  difficul 
ties,  he  had  heard  from  good  authority,  were  all  in  process  of  arrangement,  and  would 
be  speedily  settled. 

As  for  Miss  Matilda,  she  attributed  all  this  change  in  Roxby’s  views  to  that  sharp 
letter  with  which  she  had  favored  him,  and  which  had  so  long  remained  unanswered. 
The  good  lady  plumed  herself  not  a little  on  having  brought  her  recalcitrant  co-trus- 
tee to  his  bearings,  and  conceived  her  dignified  but  stinging  rebuke  quite  accounted 
for  the  humble  peroration  of  his  courteous  epistle.  That  she  should  dissert  a little  on 
her  own  talents,  for  dealing  with  people  who  required  both  reprimand  and  convinc- 
ing of  the  errors  of  their  opinions,  was  but  natural,  and  Aunt  Clem  was  lost  in  reaj 
admiration  of  her  sister’s  cleverness. 

But  Bessie  could  not  help  thinking  of  Mr.  Roxby’s  rascally  proposition  co  Charlie 
Detfield ; then  she  mused  on  his  coarse,  violent  behavior  to  herself  and  Miss  Stan- 
bury, on  the  occasion  of  his  last  visit,  and, the  girl  felt  intuitively  that  some  other 
Influence  had  been  brought  to  bear  upon  her  unprincipled  guardian  to  make  him  eat 
his  words  in  this  fashion.  She  could  not  help  feeling  some  mistrust  of  this  suddrs 


Mr.  Roxby's  Conversion. 


237 


assent  to  her  marriage,  couched  in  such  honeyed  terms.  To  use  homely  words,  it 
sounded  too  good  to  be  true. 

But  it  was  not  only  in  Barnsbury  road  that  Mr.  Boxbv’s  conversion  had  made  a 
stir.  In  that  dingy,  window-barred  house  in  Cursitor  street,  over  which  the  usurious 
Coleman  held  sway,  there  was  much  marvel.  Charlie  Detfiela,  though  naturally 
sanguine  in  temperament,  had  not  placed  much  faith  in  the  major’s  letter.  There  is 
something  demoralizing,  I mean  to  the  animal  spirits,  in  imprisonment  in  the  first 
instance,  be  that  imprisonment  made  light  as  may  be. 

When,  like  Sterne’s  starling,  man  first  awakes  to  the  fact  that  he  “ can’t  get  out/' 
he  droops,  mopes,  and  becomes  despondent.  Time  alleviates  this,  and  it  is  possible,  nc 
doubt,  to  arrive  at  the  supine  selfishness  that  Mr.  Dorritt  attained  after  some  years’ 
experience  of  the  Marshalsea.  But  in  the  beginning  the  bolts  bite,  the  bars  gnaw, 
and  to  the  generality  of  men  comes  great  depression.  The  prison  listlessness  steals 
over  them.  Capacity  for  work  evaporates,  and  the  mental  languor  increases  daily.  It 
is  good  for  our  criminals  that  they  are  compelled  to  labor.  Imprisonment  for  any 
length  of  time  without 

“ Labor,  the  symbol  of  man’s  punishment,” 

is  to  slay  him  morally  and  intellectually.  There  are  exceptions,  of  course.  Strong 
minds  are  exceptional. 

Detfield,  fast  succumbing  to  this  apathy,  is  aroused  once  more  by  a second  letter 
from  the  major,  which  he  reads  again  and  again,  and  still  can  hardly  believe  in : — 

“John  street,  Adelphi, 

“ Friday. 

“ 1)ear  Deteield,  — Boxby  and  I have  had  our  little  game ; I beat  him,  as  I told 
you  I should,  and  he  had  to  make  terms.  That  your  affairs  can  interest  me  will,  no 
doubt,  puzzle  you ; but  It  so  happens  they  do.  Your  one  thousand  to  fifteen  chance 
has  come  off,  and  you  vill  find  that  Boxby  has  given  unqualified  consent  to  your 
marriage.  This  I need  scarcely  point  out,  places  you  in  a very  different  position,  and 
your  lawyer,  r. r man  of  business,  will  find  Simmonds  now  easy  to  deal  with.  Willing 
to  give  time,  apply  for  remission  of  sentence,  in  fact  facilitate  your  views  in  every 
way.  I speak  with  authority;  to  say  nothing  of  its  being  so  obviously  his  best 
chance  of  getting  his  money,  that  he  would  be  mad  to  act  otherwise. 

“ Accept  my  congratulations  on  your  bridal,  and  remember  you  are  somewhat 
indebted  to  me  should  I ever  require  a favor  at  your  hands. 

“ Yours  sincerely, 

“ Claxby  Jenkens.” 

Although  his  battle  with  Boxby  had  been  a labor  of  love,  and  fought  strictly  in  the 
interest  of  his  employer,  Simmonds ; yet  the  major  could  not  resist  putting  in  bw 


238 


Two  Kisses. 


claim  for  recompense  of  some  sort  to  the  man  who  would  so  much  benefit  by  his 
victory. 

He  had  no  particular  idea  just  then  of  what  it  was  that  he  would  have,  but  he  would 
have  deemed  he  was  failing  in  his  duty  to  himself  had  he  not  sought  to  establish  a pull 
of  some  kind  over  Detfield.  Major  Jenkens  was  conscientious  past  all  conception  in 
doing  his  duty  to  himself. 

Circumstances  make  men  intimate,  whom  it  is  hard  to  conceive  amalgamating.  It 
Is  wonderful  what  that  necessity  for  “ talk,”  common  to  the  run  of  mankind,  will  do 
in  this  way.  Who,  that  has  travelled,  has  not  seen  scores  of  instances  of  this  ? The 
railway  traveller  that  unbosoms  himself,  and  blurts  out  his  whole  family  history 
between  London  and  York,  is  an  every-day  type.  You  must  be  terribly  morose,  or 
clothed  in  surpassing  hauteur,  if  you  have  never  become  the  recipient  of  such  con- 
fidences. One  has  been  asked  to  lunch,  to  dine,  even  to  stay,  the  first  time  you  should 
be  in  the  neighborhood.  You  may  take  such  protestations  cum  grano  salisy  or  you 
may  take  them  en  verite.  I declare,  when  taken  as  the  latter,  I don’t  think  you  would 
be  deceived  in  most  instances. 

Charlie  Detfield  in  the,  to  put  it  delicately,  close  seclusion  of  Mr.  Coleman’s 
mansion,  has  fraternized  strongly  with  Mr.  Turbottle.  Wide  as  the  poles,  the  status 
of  a dandy  of  the  Household  Brigade  and  a “ Cheap  Jack.”  True,  equally  wide  the 
position  of  a peer  of  the  realm  and  a ci-devant  pot-boy,  of  a baronet  and  an  ex-stable 
lad.  Still,  in  the  now  extinct  plunging  era,  such  instances  were.  The  turf  leads  to 
queer  fraternization ; so  did  the  railway  mania.  The  Stock  Exchange  boasts,  doubt- 
less, of  similar  incongruities.  The  only  true  republic  is  that  of  money-getting,  in 
which  the  peasant  is  kotooed  to  and  respected  by  the  peer,  should  the  latter  hold  the 
former’s  information  superior  to  his  own. 

The  old  Railway  King  could  have  told  some  strange  stories  had  he  liked.  I have 
known  a bookmaker  who  has  been  requested  to  mark  a marchioness’  racing  card 
Defore  the  day’s  sport  began.  There  is  not,  therefore,  so  much  cause  for  astonishment 
as  might  be  at  first  supposed  for  the  fraternization  of  Detfield  and  Mr.  Turbottle. 
The  turf  has  been  spoken  of  as  a leveller  of  classes.  A sponging-house  acts  upon  its 
inmates  pretty  much  as  a steam-roller  on  the  newly  metalled  road,  — apt  to  weld  its 
inhabitants  together. 

Mr.  Turbottle,  with  his  quaint  humor  and  racy  observations  on  men  and  manners, 
had  done  much  to  lighten  the  weary  hours  of  Detfield’s  imprisonment.  That  eccentric 
worthy  had  conceived  a strong  liking  for  his  fellow-captive,  whom  he  graphically 
described  as  “ not  half  a bad  sort,  considering  he  was  born  a swell.  It  does  come  a 
little  rough  on  them,  you  see,  when  they  find  ’emselves  in  Queer  street.  They  aint 
used  to  it;  at  all  events  he  aint  as  yet.” 

Mr.  Turbottle  happened  to  be  in  high  force  the  morning  on  which  Detfield  received 
the  major’s  letter 

“ What  a blessing  it  is,  captain,  having  plenty  of  time  to  read  the  papers,  isn’t  it  ? 
4nd  what  a blessing  it  is  for  old  Coleman,  having  inmates  who  will  see  ’em,”  he 


Mr.  Roxby's  Conversion. 


239 


remarked,  turning  over  the  “ Telegraph.”  “ Charge  one  sixpence  a day  for  this  here 
pennyworth,  he  does,  so  help  me.  A man  who  can’t  make  capital  out  of  his  mis- 
fortunes aint  fit  to  be  in  ’em.  I tell  you  what  I mean  to  do,”  and  here  Mr.  Turbottle 
indulged  in  a perfect  volley  of  winks.  “ As  soon  as  I’m  out  I shall  set  up  in  this  line ; 
it’s  the  most  screamirlg  trade  ever  I saw  drove.  If  you  can’t  make  a fortune  at  this 
game,  why,  you  never  will ; as  an  old  pal,  captain,  you  give  me  a turn  if  ever  you’r® 
Cursitor  street  way  again.  What,  you  won’t  ? ” continued  Mr.  Turbottle,  in  answet 
to  Detfield’s  smile,  and  relapsing  into  the  patter  of  his  own  trade.  “Well,  I’ll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do  with  you.  I’ll  do  you  half  price,  and  throw  you  a Sunday  dinner  inr 
Aint  that  good  enough  ? Well,  you  settle  up  with  Coleman  before  you  say  no.” 

“ This  letter  I’ve  just  received  tells  me  that  I shall  be  released  in  a few  days.  1 
own  I don’t  quite  understand  how,  but  I presume  my  lawyer,  when  he  comes,  will  be 
able  to  explain.” 

“ What,  going  out  ? Dash  it  all ! be  a man,  captain.  Blessed  if  J didn’t  think  you’d 
tnade  up  your  mind,  like  myself,  not  to  part  with  a mag,  but  to  serve  your  time  out.” 
Mr.  Turbottle  labored  under  a delusion  not  easy  to  dissipate ; namely,  that  com- 
pleting his  term  of  imprisonment  would  effectually  wipe  out  the  costs  for  which  he 
stood  committed,  keeping  that  money  out  of  the  pocket  of  the  man  whom  he  con- 
sidered had  dealt  unfairly  with  him  was  the  sole  reason  of  his  obstinate  resolve  not 
to  pay.  Like  the  immortal  Pickwick,  he  was  in  prison  on  principle. 

“ I shan't  stay  here  an  hour  longer  than  I can  help,”  replied  Charlie,  dryly.  “ I 
have  good  reasons  for  wishing  to  be  at  liberty.” 

“ Oh,  there  aint  much  difficulty  about  finding  reasons  for  that,”  retorted  Mr.  Tur- 
bottle. “ You  might  want  to  stretch  your  legs,  or  require  change  of  scene.  I never 
was  in  a place  that  furnished  so  many  reasons  for  wishing  to  be  away  from  it.  I 
don’t  want  to  be  inquisitive,  nor  to  squash  the  hope  that  springs  perennial,  — I mean 
is  always  cropping  up  in  the  human  bosom,  as  Shakespeare  has  it,  but  hope’s  a rum  ’un 
at  telling  ‘ a flattering  tale  much  longer  than  my  arm,’  you  know.” 

“ I think  I can  put  faith  in  my  correspondent,”  replied  Charlie ; “ Claxby  Jenkens 
don’t  make  many  mistakes,  and  he  happens  to  know  tho,  oughly  how  I am  situated.” 
“Claxby  Jenkens ! ” exclaimed  Mr.  Turbottle,  bouncing  off  the  sofa. 

“Yes;  do  you  know  him  ?”  inquired  Detfield,  somewnat  curiously. 

“ Oh,  I know  him,  and  he  knows  me,”  replied  the  litt  e man,  somewhat  abstractedly. 

‘ But  surely  your  friend  spoke  of  him  as  a scoundrel  t ue  other  day.  What,  pray,  do 
you  think  of  him  ? ” 

“ Well,  he’s  a man  the  world  throws  hard  names  at ; but  he  has  alwa)rs  dealt  fairly 
by  me,  and,  if  I may  trust  his  letter,  has  done  me  a real  good  turn  now.” 

“ I haven’t  seen  him  for  a good  bit,  but  it  strikes  me  I must.  You  don’t  think  him 
an  out-and-outer,  then,  eh  ? ” and  Mr.  Turbottle  peered  inquisitively  into  his  com- 
panion’s face. 

“ I have  told  you  fairly  what  I know  of  him ; but  there’s  no  doubt  many  people^ 
like  Fox  Brine,  judge  him  much  more  hardly  than  I do,” 

16 


240 


Two  Kisses. 


u I must  see  him  — I must  see  him,”  murmured  Mr.  Turbottle.  “ Surely,  he’d 
never  play  Cissy  false.  If  he  has,  he  might  be  pretty  certain  I wouldn’t  stand  her 
being  put  upon.” 

“ Going  out,  eh?”  he  continued,  once  more  addressing  himself  to  Detfield. 
“ What’s  it  feel  like  ? A skin  full  of  gin-punch  aint  a circumstance  to  it,  I s’pose. 
Blessed  if  one  understands  liberty  till  one’s  been  under  the  lock. 

“ ‘ I’m  for  freedom  of  opinion 
Throughout  this  here  dominion ; 

’Bout  paying  one’s  debts,  especially  let’s 
Have  freedom  of  opinion,’  ” 

sang  Mr.  Turbottle  con  spirito , and  then  betook  himself  seriously  to  smoking. 
CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  EXPLANATION. 

There  are  crises  in  history  when  events  follow  each  other  with  startling  rapidity, 
when  we  may  almost,  as  in  the  days  of  the  terrible  French  and  German  struggle,  be 
said  to  listen  for  the  moaning  of  the  wires ; to  strain  our  ears  for  the  wailing  of  the 
(Eolian  harp  of  the  nineteenth  century,  — the  electric  telegraph.  Did  the  harp  of 
old  ever  send  forth  sadder  music  than  the  mournful  story  of  Sedan  or  Gravelotte,  as 
wafted  to  us  by  the  flashing  strings  of  that  of  our  day  ? 

So  in  the  lives  of  us  all  comes  the  time  when  we  live  years  in  hours.  In  the  most 
prosaic  existence  there  has  happened  what  has  seemed  to  it  a convulsion. 

Cissy  is  living  such  a life  now.  To  her  every  twenty-four  hours  is  loaded  with 
hope,  with  terror.  She  is  sanguine  of  clearing  her  fair  fame ; she  trembles  for  that 
flickering  life  she  loves  so  well ; for  the  fruition  of  that  love  she  has  awoke  to,  it  may 
be  too  late. 

Much  gratified  has  she  been  this  morning  (it  is  the  day  after  her  visit  to  Lizzie) 
by  a call  from  John  Paynter.  Lizzie  Paynter,  with  all  her  faults,  could  be  a veiy 
true  friend.  She  had  always  refused  to  entertain  a doubt  of  Cissy’s  innocence; 
after  their  mutual  explanation,  she  was,  of  course,  more  firmly  convinced  of  it  than 
ever. 

Her  first  impulse  had  been  to  ask  Cissy  immediately  to  come  and  stay  with  them 
till  she  was  able  to  re-enter  her  husband’s  house,  with  all  that  miserable  scandal 
refuted.  But  Mrs.  Paynter  remembered  that  she  also  had  a husband,  and  that,  easy- 
going and  far  from  straight-laced  as  John  Paynter  was,  he  could  upon  occasion  put 
his  foot  down  firmly. 

There  had  been  a case  or  two  in  which  people  of  reputation,  rather  more  tainted 
*ha n careless,  good-natured  Lizzie  had  been  aware  of,  had  obtained  a footing  in  her 


The  Explanation.  241 

house,  and  she  recollected  the  peremptory  manner  in  which  they  had  been  struck  off 
her  visiting  list. 

John  Paynter  interfered  but  little  with  his  wife,  yet  he  was  too  much  about  the 
world  of  London  not  to  know,  very  shortly,  all  about  those  who  might  cross  his 
threshhold;  not  the  man  to  tolerate  characters  past  all  bleaching  in  his  drawing- 
room. 

Lizzie,  of  course,  knew  that  her  husband  took  a different  view  from  herself  con- 
cerning Cissy’s  conduct;  but  she  knew,  also,  that  it  was  no  strongly  prejudiced  opin- 
ion  regarding  it.  If  he  thought  the  worst,  it  was  sorrowfully,  and  with  regret  that 
the  facts,  so  far  as  he  knew  them,  enabled  him  to  come  to  no  other  conclusion. 

Lizzie  invaded  the  sanctuary  of  the  smoking-room  that  night,  with  bold,  deliberate 
intention ; an  intrusion  which,  wise  in  her  generation,  she  never  committed,  save  on 
great  occasions.  Did  wives  comprehend  what  sparing  use  of  such  invasion  may  be 
made,  they  would  treasure  up  the  “ insidious  charm  ” carefully.  It  bears  not  always 
rubbing,  like  Aladdin’s  lamp ; use  it  too  often,  and  its  efficacy  wanes,  waxes  weaker 
and  weaker,  and  at  last  dies  out.  Like  those  other  “ charms,”  opiates,  alcohol  and 
nicotine,  ’tis  the  abuse,  not  the  use,  that  brings  us  to  woe  and  utter  discomfiture. 

Lizzie,  at  all  events,  thoroughly  comprehended  the  advantage  of  keeping  such  bat 
tie-ground  for  grand  assaults,  and  not  wasting  that  opportune  position  in  conjugal 
skirmishes.  Her  husband  knew  well  that  when  Lizzie  ascended  to  the  smoking- 
room  she  had  something  serious  to  unbosom  herself  of. 

She  told  him  Cissy’s  story  in  her  own  quaint,  though  not  quite  sincere,  fashion.  It 
was  hardly  likely  that  she  would  reveal  that  scene  at  Montague  Gore’s  chambers,  in 
all  its  integrity,  for  instance.  Still  she  did  make  him  understand  that  interfering 
between  them,  in  defiance  of  his  advice,  she  had  so  far  further  complicated  matters  as 
to  make  Cissy  jealous  of  herself.  That,  combined  with  Montague’s  jealous  innuen- 
does, had  driven  Cissy  wild,  and,  in  a moment  of  passionate  excitement,  she  had 
levanted  to  Brompton-super-Mare 

“ As  for  Major  Jenkens,  she  says  that  within  a day  or  two  he  shall  himself  declare 
what  the  mysterious  relation  between  them  is,  and  that  it  will  leave  no  ground  for  the 
shadow  of  suspicion  when  you  do  but  know  it ; and  John,  dear,  as  I have  been  in 
some  measure  the  cause  of  her  trouble,  I do  hope  you  will  let  me  ask  her  here.  It’s 
so  shocking  to  think  of  her  refused  admission  to  her  husband’s  house ; a husband, 
mind,  as  I’ve  told  you  all  along  — and  I’m  right  here  — that  she  is  passionately  attached 
to.  If  you  wouldn’t  mind,  it  would  please  me  so  very  much.  Had  you  only  seen 
her  to-day,  I am  sure  you  would  have  done  it  yourself.  Do  it  now,  for  my  sake,”  and 
Lizzie  laid  her  hands  on  her  husband’s  shoulder,  and  looked  wistfully  down  into  his 
face. 

John  Paynter  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  exclaimed : — 

“ You  know,  Liz,  it  came  very  much  against  the  grain  with  me  to  think  -wrong  of 
Cissy  Gore.  I’m  uncommonly  glad  to  think  I’m  mistaken,  and  that  she  at  all  events, 
cau  flatly  deny  the  scandal.  I’ll  call  upon  her  myself,  to-morrow,  and  ask  her  here. 


242 


Two  Kisses. 


It  will  snow  people  that  we  no  longer  credit  it,  any  way.  Still,  she  must  right  ner« 

self,  remember.,, 

“ And  she  will,  and  that  speedily,”  cried  Lizzie,  jubilantly.  “ I don’t  know  quite 
what  to  call  you,  John,  without  being  slang ; but  you’re  a dear,  good  fellow,  if  that 
will  do,  — and  that.” 

John  Faynter  bore  his  salutation  calmly,  — husbands,  I suppose,  do,  even  when 
their  wives  are  not  wont  to  be  effusive,  — but  he  was  prompt  to  his  word,  and  called 
on  Mrs.  Gore  at  the  Langham,  next  morning. 

But  Cissy  was  firm  in  her  refusal  of  his  invitation.  That  she  was  extremely  pleased 
with  it,  she  made  no  disguise. 

“ It  is  very  kind  of  you,”  she  said.  “ It  is  a great  comfort  to  me  to  think  that  you 
believe  me  guiltless ; that  you  credit  me  when  I say  I can  dissipate  this  infamous 
scandal  before  the  week  is  out.  Yet  I’ll  not  so  far  take  advantage  of  your  compas- 
sion as  to  become  your  guest  while  this  stain  rests  upon  my  name.  Nay,  further; 
one  moment,  please,”  she  cried,  seeing  that  he  was  about  to  speak,  “ I’ll  be  no  one’s 
guest  till  my  right  to  the  shelter  of  my  husband’s  roof  is  once  more  established. 
You  won’t  deem  me  ungrateful*  I know.  Think  for  two  minutes,  and  you  will  say, 
— if  she  is  innocent,  she  is  right.” 

“You  are,”  returned  John  Paynter,  warmly.  “Not  that  I am  withdrawing  my 
offer  for  one  instant,  but  your  woman’s  wit  serves  you  better  than  our  blundering, 
though  good  intentions.  Remember,  I’ll  stand  by  you  all  I can,  and  so  will  Lizzie.” 

“ Thank  you,  Mr.  Paynter,  I know  it,”  replied  Cissy,  softly ; “ but  you  can  only 
aid  me  in  this  matter  so  far.  It  is  for  me  to  justify  myself;  I can  — I shall.  But  I 
cannot  wait  till  my  husband  is  fit  to  hear  my  exculpation,  — my  post  should  be  at  his 
side  now.  I am  anxious  — anxious  indeed,  I am  frantic  — to  resume  my  rights.  If 
Montague  should  die  without  my  hand  to  smooth  his  pillow,  to  solace  his  last 
moments,  I shall  never  hold  my  head  up  more ; when  I think  how  far  my  foolish- 
ness may  have  occasioned  his  illness,  I don’t  think  I could  even  then.  What  I have 
to  ask  of  you  is  this.  Will  you  and  Lizzie  consent  to  hear  my  justification,  and  take 
care  that  Mr.  Brine  is  present  ? You  three  thoroughly  satisfied,  and  no  one  shall  say 
me  nay  about  claiming  my  undoubted  right  to  watch  over  my  husband.” 

“ Of  course,  certainly ; as  I said  before,  command  me  in  any  way,”  replied  Jdan 
Paynter. 

“ To-morrow,  then,  expect  me  with  my  evidence.  I myself  will  write  to  Mr.  Brin© 
to  meet  me  at  your  house  at  twelve.” 

“ All  shall  be  as  you  wish,  Mrs.  Gore ; and  no  one  can  more  sincerely  wish  you 
well  through  all  your  troubles  than  I do.  Good-by.” 

“ Good-by,  Mr.  Paynter,”  replied  Cissy.  And  then  that  gentleman  resumed  his 
way  to  the  city,  prepared  to  stake  his  existence  on  the  innocence  of  the  woman  whom 
twenty-four  hours  ago  he  had  held  guilty  past  all  dispute. 

So  often  as  people  are  condemned,  socially,  without  evidence,  it  is  well,  perhaps, 
that  they  should  be  occasionally  also  exculpated  on  similar  foundation.  A shrewc^ 


The  Explanation . 243 

Gfigacioiis  man  is  John  Paynter,  but,  logically,  he  has  less  reason  to  acquit  Cissy  than 
he  has  to  consider  the  charge  against  her  proven. 

An  innocent  woman  we  know  her ; but  John  Paynter  has  changed  his  views  on 
nothing  more  than  his  wife’s  cajoleries,  and  Mrs.  Gore’s  bold  denial  of  the  scandal 
concerning  her.  Such  proofs  would  have  done  little  to  convince  him  on  a matter  of 
business,  yet  cleverer  men  than  he  would  have  believed  as  he  did  in  this  instance. 

A note,  the  first  thing  next  morning,  from  Brine,  told  Cissy  that  sleep,  so  long 
prayed  for,  had  at  length  sealed  her  husband’s  eyelids.  The  crisis  of  the  fever,  the 
deathlike  slumber,  when  the  poor,  troubled  brain  at  last  ceases  to  wrestle  with  the 
phantoms  that  possess  it,  has  come ; that  phase  of  all  cerebral  excitement,  when  the 
watchers  can  mutely  and  nervously  but  wait  the  awaking  of  the  sufferer.  If  sense 
accompanies  not  the  cessation  of  slumber,  then  indeed  the  patient’s  hold  of  life  waxes 
slender.  If  it  should,  then  infinite  is  the  care  necessary  o withdraw  the  stricken 
one  from  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  to  nurse  back  into  a flame  those  faint 
embers  of  life  that  such  terrible  struggle  with  the  Destroyer  has  left.  Cissy  knew  all 
this  well.  She  had  consulted  doctors  and  books  on  brain  fever  during  the  last  forty- 
eight  hours.  It  was  good  news  that  at  last  he  slept.  The  awaking  was  in  the  hands 
of  Him  wtio  ruletk  all  things. 

Those  who  remembered  Cissy  in  her  Paris  days  would  have  been  struck  speechless 
with  astonishment  if  they  could  have  seen  the  energetic,  calm  woman  she  had 
become  in  her  trouble.  Forced  to  think  now  entirely  for  herself,  she  is  foreseeing 
self-reliant,  and  patient.  One  idea  possesses  her.  She  must  win  Montague  back,  must 
clear  herself  of  all  stain  in  his  eyes.  If  the  precious  boon  of  his  life  is  not  to  be 
granted  to  her,  then  in  pity’s  sake  let  it  be  conceded  that  he  should  understand  she 
was  guiltless,  if  foolish ; let  him  kiss  and  forgive  her  before  he  should  be  torn  from 
her.  Time  is  precious ; — this  terrible  fever,  who  shall  say  how  it  may  terminate  ? 
She  wants  all  her  faculties.  She  must  be  sitting  by  her  husband’s  bedside  when  he 
awakes. 

Loth  as  he  was  to  leave  his  friend  at  such  a crisis,  yet  Fox  Brine  saw  at  once  that 
his  duty  to  his  friend  was  to  restore  his  wife  to  him  before  all  things,  if  possible. 
Prejudiced  strongly  against  Cissy  he  had  been,  no  doubt,  but  his  opinion  concerning 
her  had  been  much  modified  by  their  last  interview. 

“ She  spoke  like  an  innocent  woman,”  muttered  Fox  to  himself.  “ If  she  can  in 
the  main  substantiate  her  story,  I would  acquit  her,  and  trust  to  time  to  clear  up  some 
little  discrepancies,  if  such  there  be.” 

Leaving  stringent  orders  that  word  should  be  instantly  despatched  to  him  of 
Montague's  awaking,  Mr.  Brine  betook  himself  to  the  Paynters.  lie  found  Lizzie  in 
a state  of  great  agitation.  Honest  anxiety  for  her  friend,  leavened  with  a perfect  tremor 
of  curiosity,  had  reduced  Mrs.  Paynter  to  that  state  in  which  to  sit  still  becomes  an 
impossibility.  Her  husband,  though  much  calmer,  as  behoved  his  masculine  dignity 
itill  awaited  Cissy’s  promised  explanation  with  considerable  interest. 

A few  minutes  past  twelve  and  a servant  announced  Mrs.  Gore 


244 


Two  Kisses. 


Cissy,  very  quietly  dressed,  entered  the  room,  followed  by  a gentleman  who  was  at 
once  recognized  by  all.  She  bowed  generally  to  the  trio,  and  with  a motion  of  her 
hand  checked  Lizzie,  who  was  coming  forward  to  greet  her. 

“ Allow  me  to  introduce  to  you,  Major  Claxby  Jenkens,”  she  paused  for  a moment, 
and  then  added  in  clear,  steady  tones,  — “ my  father.”  Taking  no  notice  of  the  varied 
signs  of  astonishment  visible  in  the  faces  of  her  hearers,  she  continued,  — “I  shall  leave 
my  exculpation  in  my  father’s  hands.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  listen  to  his  story  ? *' 

Claxby  Jenkens  advanced  a step  or  two,  and  quietly  took  off  his  accustomed 
spectacles. 

“ I shall  not,”  he  said,  “ detain  you  long.  Let  me  say  in  the  first  place  that  my 
daughter  has  been  loyal  to  a promise  I exacted  from  her  under  other  circumstances, 
but  which  I still  gave  her  positive  injunctions  to  respect,  namely,  the  concealment  of 
my  very  existence  from  her  world.  I have  been  an  intriguer,  a schemer,  all  my  life ; 
but  that  the  world  could  ever  put  me  down  as  my  daughter’s  lover  I must  own  never 
entered  my  head.  The  old  story,”  he  said  sadly,  — “we  never  can  see  anything  except 
from  our  own  point  of  view.” 

“ But  are  you  really  Cissy’s  father  ? ” exclaimed  Lizzie,  who  could  restrain  herself 
no  longer. 

“ Hush ! ” said  her  husband,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

“ I must  go  back  a good  bit,”  replied  the  major,  taking  no  manner  of  notice  of  the 
interruption,  “ but  I promise  to  be  brief.  Some  five-and-twenty  years  ago  I was  a 
subaltern  of  artillery,  quartered  at  Nottingham.  I fell  in  love  with  a very  pretty 
girl  there,  the  daughter  of  a tobacconist  it  ended  in  my  running  away  with  and 
marrying  her. 

“ My  commanding  officer  was  very  wroth  with  my  escapade , so  were  the  towns- 
people generally,  — he,  because  I had  made  her  an  honest  woman ; the  latter,  because 
they  persistently  maintained  I had  not.  Neither  she  nor  I had  a very  pleasant  time 
of  it,  and  after  a little  I determined  to  leave  the  service,  and  resigned  my  commission 
accordingly.  We  went  abroad;  how  we  lived  matters  little,  we  scrambled  along 
somehow;  but  at  the  end  of  three  years  I lost  her,  and  I can  say  honestly  the  saddest 
day  of  my  life  was  when  I laid  her  in  her  grave  at  Pere-la-Chaise. 

“ She  left  me  one  child,  — the  woman  who  now  stands  before  you.  What  was  I to 
do  with  a little  thing  two  years  old  ? What  I did,  was  to  take  her  back  to  Nottingham, 
and  place  her  with  my  wife’s  sister,  who  was  by  that  time  married,  and  whose  husband 
was  assisting  his  father-in-law  in  the  management  of  the  shop.  If  she  was  rather 
hard,  she  was  a just  woman,  and  I knew  I could  rely  upon  her  to  do  her  duty  by  my 
child. 

“ As  for  my  own  relations,  they  were  not  many.  I had  alienated  them  by  various 
escapades,  and  they  were  only  too  glad  to  make  mymamage  an  occasion  for  breaking 
with  me  altogether.” 

“ Stop ! ” exclaimed  Brine.  “ You  and  Turbottle  married  sisters,  by  Heaven ! and 
therefore  you  know  — ” 


The  Explanation. 


245 


“ A good  deal.  Mr.  Brine,  you  wish  to  learn,  if  you  will  only  allow  me  to  tell  it,” 
replied  the  major,  blandly.  “ It  always  is  hard  to  induce  people  to  listen  patiently, 
even  to  that.” 

“ Please  be  quiet,”  interposed  John  Paynter. 

Cissy,  hex  hand  graspingthe  back  of  a chair,  listened  with  unmoved  countenance  to 
her  own  bYgrapliy.  What  did  it  all  matter  to  her  ? It  was  but  a means  to  an  end, 
reconciliation  with  her  husband,  — reconciliation  with  the  man  she  loved,  permission, 
nt  f , the  right  to  sit  by  his  sick-bed.  How  tedious  her  father  was,  she  thought ; but 
her  faith  in  his  talents  and  knowledge  of  the  world  never  swerved.  It  was  necessary, 
she  supposed,  this  weary  recapitulation,  if  he  thought  so.  For  herself  she  deemed, 
when  she  had  said  this  is  my  father,  when  he  had  said  this  is  my  daughter,  everything 
was  made  clear.  The  major  knew  better. 

“ For  ten  years,”  he  continued,  “ Cissy  lived  there ; then  I took  her  abroad  and 
placed  her  in  a convent  at  St.  Germains.  She  left  that  only  to  be  married  to  Mark 
Hemsworth.  From  that  date  she  was  before  the  Paris  world,  as  Mrs.  Paynter  can 
testify.  I can  see  you  believe  me,  but  I am  a man  of  business.  Unwittingly  I have 
raised  a terrible  scandal  against  the  one  being  in  this  world  I have  to  love.  Her 
innocence  cannot  be  made  too  clear.  Here  are  my  proofs.  There  is  an  attested  copy 
of  my  marriage  with  Cecilia  Blackburn,  at  St.  Sepulchre’s  Church,  Holborn,  — easy 
to  verify  that  within  two  hours.  This  is  an  attested  copy  of  Cissy’s  birth  in  Paris, 
the  truth  of  which  can  be  ascertained  in  a couple  of  days.  Is  that  sufficient  ? ” 

“ Certainly,”  replied  John  Paynter. 

“ Mrs.  Gore,  I humbly  ask  your  pardon ! ” said  Fox  Brine. 

“ Cissy,  my  darling ! ” cried  Lizzie,  advancing  towards  her. 

“ One  moment,  please ! ” exclaimed  the  major,  in  sharp,  peremptory  tones.  “ You 
deem  that  enough ; I don’t.  I can  afford  to  leave  no  link  wanting  in  this  evidence. 
If  Mr.  Paynter  will  favor  me  by  ringing  the  bell  and  telling  sbme  one  to  ask  the 
gentleman  below  to  step  up,  I shall  introduce  to  you  an  irreproachable  witness  of  my 
story.  No  one  more  capable  of  pronouncing  on  his  veracity  than  Mr.  Brine.” 

John  Paynter  gave  the  necessary  order,  and,  like  his  wife  and  Brine,  awaited  with 
intense  curiosity  the  appearance  of  the  new-comer. 

Another  minute,  and  a.  sleek,  bright-eyed  little  man  entered  the  room,  bowed 
respectfully  to  the  company,  and,  then  crossing  over,  drew  Cissy’s  arm  within 
his  own. 

“ Mr.  Turbottle ! ” ejaculated  Brine,  with  the  utmost  amazement. 

“ Exactly,”  interposed  the  major;  “also  the  uncle  with  whom  Cissy  was  brought 
up ; also  the  co-trustee  with  myself  to  that  settlement  for  which  you  have  been  so 
long  searching.  He  told  you  and  Mr.  Gore  the  whole  stoiy  about  a year  ago,  if  you 
iemember;  when  neither  of  you  were  aware  of  my  existence,  nor  dreamed  that  my 
daughter  would  ever  be  Mr.  Gore’s  wife.  The  settlement-deed,  lying  at  Firth  and 
Chillingham’s  bank  in  Nottingham,  would  alone  be  indisputable  evidence.” 

“ How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Turbottle  ? ” exclaimed  Brine,  as  he  crossed  to  shake  hands 


246 


Two  Kisses. 


with  that  worthy.  “ I certainly  can  vouch  to  having  heard  this  story  at  the  Georg* 
Inn,  Nottingham.  Don’t  think  I have  a doubt;  but  how  did  you  turn  up  so  oppor- 
tunely ? ” 

“ I knew  where  he  was  as  well  as  you  did,”  replied  the  major.  “ I went  to  him 
last  night,  and  we  had  a long  talk  together.  It  was  not  likely  that  he  would  fail  Cissy 
in  her  trouble  any  more  than  myself.” 

“ No,”  replied  the  little  man,  huskily.  “ It  went  ag’in’  the  grain  to  give  in  to  that 
Chowner,  of  course ; but  when  the  child  I had  dandled  so  often  on  my  knee  wanted 
me,  I was  bound  to  come,  naturally,  at  any  sacrifice.  Reg’lar  bit  of  the  old  business, 
sir,”  he  continued,  turning  to  Brine,  — “ giving  up  the  money,  and  paying,  leastways 
Coleman,  very  handsome  to  take  it.” 

But  here  Mrs.  Paynter  dashed  swiftly  across  the  room,  and  caught  Cissy  in  her 
arms  just,  as  with  a slight  gurgle  in  her  throat,  she  was  on  the  point  of  swooning. 

“ Help  me  to  put  her  on  the  sofa,  John,  and  then  take  them  all  downstairs,  and 
send  Justine  here.  She  is  only  a little  bit  hysterical,  and  will  be  right  again  in  a few 
minutes.  You  will  not  go,  Mr.  Brine  ? ” 

“ Not  without  Mrs.  Gore,  if  possible.” 

Lizzie  nodded,  and  turned  towards  her  patient. 

Mrs.  Paynter  was  right.  A few  choking  sobs,  a short  burst  of  tears,  and  then, 
after  swallowing  a stiff  dose  of  sal-volatile  and  water,  Cissy  pronounced  herself  able 
and  anxious  to  leave. 

“ You  are  satisfied,  are  you  not  ? ” she  whispered  to  her  friend.  “ They  all  are,  — 
is  it  not  so  ? And  I may  go  to  Montague  at  once  ? ” 

“ Yes,  dear.  I never  doubted  you  myself,”  replied  her  friend;  “and  as  for  the 
others,  Mr.  Brine  is  waiting  below  to  conduct  you  home.  God  bless  you,  Cissy,  and 
grant  that  your  husband  may  be  restored  to  you ! Come ! ” 

“ Mrs.  Gore,”  said  Fox  Brine,  as  he  handed  her  into  the  brougham,  “ I have  just 
received  a note  to  say  that  Montague  has  awoke,  and  is  conscious.  Remember,  he  is 
weak  as  a child.  You  will  want  all  your  self-control.  Can  you  trust  yourself?  ” 

“ Yon  shall  see,”  replied  Cissy,  softly,  her  face  irradiated  with  a smile  of  inex- 
pressible sweetness.  “ I have  gone  through  my  hour  of  agony ; I feel  that  he  will 
come  back  to  me.  Don’t  fear  that  my  nerves  will  fail  me  again.” 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

A GAT  WEDDING. 

Charlie  Detfield  is  again  at  liberty.  He  has  shaken  the  dust  from  his  shoes , 
and  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  rapacious  Coleman  with  a sense  of  inexpressible 
relief.  He  hardly  knows  how  it  has  all  come  about,  but  most  assuredly  beneficent 
fairies  have  come  to  his  assistance  in  a manner  that  his  merits  little  warrant ; in  a 


A Gay  Wedding. 


24? 


fashion  that  rarely  happens  to  the  impecunious  of  these  days,  reminding  one  of  the 
stock-uncle  of  the  old  comedies. 

“ Always  possessed 
Of  fortune  so  truly  romantic, 

Of  money  so  ready  that,  right  or  wrong, 

It  always  is  ready  to  go  for  a song, 

Throwing  it,  going  it,  pitching  it  strong, 

They  ought  to  have  purses  as  green  and  long 
As  the  cucumber  called  the  gigantic.” 

There  were  one  or  two  mysterious  conferences  betwixt  Miss  Stanbury’s  lawyer  and 
his  own  man  of  business ; and  then  the  latter  announced  to  Detfield  that  all  his  diffi- 
culties were  settled. 

“ I have  succeeded  in  borrowing  as  much  money  as  will  suffice  for  the  present,  sir,” 
said  Charlie’s  solicitor,  “ at  five  per  cent. ; but  do  you  know  that  the  person  advancing 
this  sum  and  your  principal  creditor,  Simmonds,  both  make  the  same  stipulation  ? ” 

“ What’s  that  ? ” inquired  Detfield. 

“ Ha ! ha ! it’s  rather  an  odd  condition ; but  I have  already  pledged  myself  for  your 
compliance  with  it.’ 

“Well?” 

“ Ha ! ha ! they  insist  upon  your  being  married  within  six  weeks.” 

“ Quite  right,  as  far  as  I am  concerned ; but  you  see  it  doesn’t  altogether  depend 
upon  me.” 

“ Hum ! I don’t  know.  They  say,  Captain  Detfield,  you  are  engaged,  and  that  you 
can  easily  be  married  in  that  time,  if  you  choose.” 

“ I don’t  see  what  that  beast  Simmonds  can  know  about  it,”  replied  Charlie.  “ But 
you  may  tell  him,  for  his  comfort,  that  I shall  bring  it  about  as  soon  as  I can.” 

“ Within  six  weeks,  if  possible,  then,  I may  say  ? ” inquired  the  lawyer. 

Detfield  nodded. 

“ If  I can  only  persuade  Bessie,”  he  muttered,  “ it  certainly  shall  be  within  that 
time.” 

When  he  put  that  question  to  his  fiancee  a day  or  two  later,  the  girl  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  then  blushing  slightly,  said : — 

“ I have  never  made  a secret  of  my  love,  Charlie.  I told  you  when  all  went  wrong 
I would  wait,  and  now  I’m  yours  whenever  it  pleases  you  to  take  me.” 

Bessie,  you  see,  has  really  no  personal  dignity,  or  maidenly  reserve,  whatever;  she 
loves  with  all  that  innocent  frankness  which  poets  suppose  to  characterize  the  milk- 
maid. Better  still,  she  loves  as  a fair,  honest  English  maiden  may,  with  her  very 
heart  upon  her  lips,  and  all  her  soul  shining  out  of  the  truthful  brown  eyes. 

But  then  Bessie  suggested,  she  didn’t  know  what  Aunt  Matilda  might  say  to  it, 
“ And  she’s  been  so  kind,  Charlie,  of  late,  that  I really  cannot  go  against  her,  you 
know.” 


248 


Two  Kisses. 


However,  Miss  Stanbury  accepted  the  proposition  most  graciously;  said  she  was  no 
advocate  for  long  engagements ; that,  as  for  Captain  Detfield,  the  sooner  he  was  bound 
over  in  his  good  behavior,  the  better ; that,  as  for  Bessie,  well,  it  was  best  so  too. 
“ You  couldn’t  depend  on  a soldier,  of  course.  Next  time  he  was  in  difficulties  it 
was  as  well  she  should  be  licensed  to  visit  him,  and  not  threaten  to  outrage  all  the 
proprieties,  as  she  had  done  only  a week  or  so  back.” 

Bessie  bore  her  aunt’s  jokes  meekly.  She  was  too  happy  to  quarrel  with  anybody 
just  at  present. 

Now  that  he  was  to  be  married  immediately  to  an  heiress,  of  course  Detfield  would 
have  had  small  difficulty  in  settling  with  his  creditors ; still  it  was  Miss  Stanbury  who 
smoothed  matters,  and  became  security  for  him,  thereby  enabling  his  solicitor  to 
arrange  things  upon  much  more  favorable  terms  than  he  could  have  otherwise 
obtained.  Charlie  did  not  know  this  till  many  months  afterwards. 

There  was  one  thing  which  did  weigh  heavily  upon  his  mind,  and  that  was  leaving 
the  old  corps.  Of  course,  he  had  not  been  gazetted  out  as  yet.  Was  it  practicable  to 
withdraw  his  papers  ? 

The  first  thing  to  be  ascertained  was  whether  44  Chummy  Vernon  ” would  let  him 
off  his  bargain. 

The  chummy,  so-called  in  accordance  with  some  one  of  those  unaccountable 
caprices  which  give  a man  a nickname  in  the  service,  was  the  officer  who  had  agreed 
to  purchase  his  step,  and  to  him  Charlie  confided  his  desire  to  cancel  the  arrangement. 

44  All  right,”  said  the  44  chummy  one,”  44  I’d  rather  have  you  still  with  us  than  get 
your  step.  Deuced  glad  to  hear  you’ve  pulled  through,  old  fellow ! It’s  rough,  too, 
Charlie,  you  know,  because  you’re  getting  married,  beside,  they  tell  me,  and’ll  never 
really  go  to  hounds  again ; or  else  a man  who  rode  and  drove  so  hard  as  you  did, 
gave  a chance  eveiy  hunting  season.” 

44 Don’t  you  be  afraid,”  laughed  Detfield ; “I  shan’t  be  further  from  the  hounds 
because  I chance  to  be  a trifle  better  mounted.  The  first  time  we  meet  at  the  cover 
side,  chummy,  you  don’t  cut  me  down  for  a tenner.” 

44  Done,”  replied  the  other,  grinning ; 44  mind  I don’t  land  both  the  step  and  the 
tenner.” 

A popular  man  in  his  regiment,  and  strongly  backed  by  his  chief,  Charlie  had  not 
much  difficulty  in  recovering  his  papers. 

Gayly  go  on  the  preparations  for  the  wedding  meanwhile.  If  there  had  been 
excitement  at  Roseneath  House  prior  to  the  ball,  there  was  simply  delirfum  now. 
Aunt  Clem  was  in  a state  of  perpetual  flutter,  while  the  way  Miss  Matilda  harried  the 
lawyers,  dressmakers,  outfitters,  etc.,  all  that  multitude  of  people  who  never  keep 
time,  and  without  whose  assistance  matrimony  is  supposed  to  be  unattainable,  was  a 
sight  to  behold.  As  Charlie  irreverently  whispered  to  his  fiancee : — 

4 ' If  she  was  going  to  be  married  herself,  she  couldn’t  be  more  desperately  in 
earnest.” 

" It  is  very  well  she  is,  sir,”  replied  Bessie,  with  a saucy  toss  of  her  head, 41  that  is 


A Gay  Wedding.  249 

if  you  are.  I’m  sure  tlj  things  would  never  be  ready  for  months,  if  it  was  not  for 
the  way  she  worries  people.” 

“ And  I suppose  you  couldn’t  be  married  without  them  ? ” inquired  Charlie,  with 
an  affectation  of  gravity. 

“ No,”  replied  Bessie,  solemnly,  “ quite  impossible ; no  girl  was  ever  married  till 
her  things  were  ready.” 

Miss  Stanbury  had  her  own  reasons  for  hurrying  on  this  wedding.  To  tell  the 
truth,  she  dreaded  that  Mr.  Roxby  should  revoke  his  decision.  Although  she 
believed  that  it  was  her  own  fervid  appeal  and  severe  rebuke  that  had  made  him  yield 
his  consent,  and  write  in  the  conciliatory  way  he  had  done,  still  Miss  Matilda  mis- 
trusted Mr.  Roxby. 

She  thought  that  in  his  desire  to  be  once  more  reconciled  with  herself  and  Rose- 
neath  House,  he  had  hastily  assented  to  this  marriage  as  the  easiest  way  of  becoming 
so ; but  that  he  would  probably  invent  some  pretext  for  objecting  to  it  very  shortly, 
had  indeed  already  some  half-developed  scheme  to  that  effect.  Miss  Stanbury  con- 
ceived the  best  way  to  prevent  any  insidious  attack  of  this  nature  was  by  hurrying 
the  marriage  as  much  as  possible. 

After  the  manner  of  Napoleon,  Miss  Matilda  intended  to  give  her  adversary  no 
time  to  reform,  little  dreaming  that  he  was  morally  annihilated,  and  utterly  at  the 
dictation  of  men  who  had  this  marriage  as  much  at  heart  as  herself. 

It  had  been  decided  emphatically  by  Aunt  Matilda  that  it  should  be  a very  gay 
wedding,  if  she  could  make  it  so. 

“ We’ve  no  other  niece  to  many,  Clem,  so  we’ll  do  the  thing  royally,  this  once. 
Then  it’s  a real  love-match,  without  being  a pauper  affair,”  continued  Miss  Stanbury. 
“ The  savings  of  Bessie’s  minority  will  about  pay  his  debts,  and  they’ll  have  a very 
nice  income  to  set  up  house  on.  We  will  marry  Bessie  with  all  the  honors.” 

There  was  a large  muster  at  St.  Mary’s  Church,  Islington,  one  bright  autumn 
morning,  and  amongst  the  throng  are  several  of  those  who  have  figured  more  or  less 
prominently  in  this  history.  Notable  amongst  them  is  Mr.  Roxby,  with  a bouquet  in 
his  button-hole,  a vast  expanse  of  light  blue  silk  waistcoat,  and  an  ah’  of  universal 
benevolence.  He  has  presented  Bessie  with  a magnificent  bracelet,  and  claimed  the 
right  of  giving  her  away.  Nobody  could  look  the  character  of  father  to  the  bride 
more  completely.  Mr.  Roxby  shakes  hands  with  the  wedding-guests  generally, 
patronizingly ; if  a dearly  loved  daughter  had  been  about  to  be  married  to  the  son-in- 
law  of  his  choice  he  could  not  have  been  more  effusive.  He  has  taken  the  whole 
ceremony  under  his  immediate  protection,  and  seems  to  be  bestowing  his  benediction 
on  mankind  generally  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paynter  are  of  course  there.  Charlie  has  pledged  himself  to  the  lady 
that  there  is  to  be  nothing  clandestine  about  his  marriage ; that  there  are  to  be  six 
bridesmaids,  and  a tremendous  breakfast  to  follow.  Mr.  Paynter  has  once  more 
found  himself  constrained  to  open  his  purse-strings,  and  vow  that  he  will  never  more 
attend  such  ceremony ; while  Lizzie  is  divided  between  critical  reflections  on  her  own 


250 


Two  Kisses. 


toilet,  a iid  curiosity  to  see  her  old  admirer  wedded  to  Clementina  Sta&bnfjr, 

spinster. 

Lounging  in  one  of  the  pews  near  the  altar  is  a little  man,  in  a green  coat  with 
gilt  buttons,  holding  in  his  hand  a white  hat. 

Mr.  Turbottle  considers  this  last  addition  to  his  attire  quite  in  the  aspect  of  a wed- 
ding garment.  He  associates  festivity  and  light-heartedness  intimately  with  the  head 
covering,  and  has  exchanged  the  gold-banded  sombrero  of  his  professional  life  for 
the  white  hat,  with  much  deliberation.  Strange  to  say,  Bessie  has  received  no  hand- 
somer present  than  a necklace  of  pearls  from  Mr.  Turbottle. 

“No  duffers,  you  know,  captain,”  said  the  little  man,  when  he  slipped  them  into 
Charlie’s  hand.  “They  aint  part  of  the  stock;  never  saw  Birmingham,  that  lot, 
bless  you!  You  give  ’em  your  young  woman,  with  my  respectful  compliments. 
They  all  likes  a bit  of  jewelry.  I knows  ’em.  And  if  you  wouldn’t  think  it  a 
liberty,  captain,  I should  like  just  to  see  you  turned  off.” 

The  eccentric  little  man  was  really  worth  a tidy  bit  of  money,  and  could  well  afford 
to  indulge  such  a whim,  when  he  took  the  fancy.  He  had  conceived  a great  liking 
for  Detfield,  during  the  two  or  three  days  they  had  spent  together  under  the  roof  of 
the  rapacious  Coleman,  and  took  this  opportunity  of  showing  it. 

But  now  the  bridal  procession  sweeps  up  the  aisle,  and  groups  itself  round  the  altar. 
Mrs.  Paynter  leans  forward  to  have  a good  look  at  the  bride,  but  Bessie’s  face  happens 
to  be  a little  averted,  and  is  also  somewhat  masked  by  the  veil,  so  she  does  not 
succeed. 

“ ’Pon  my  word ! she  looks  marvellously  young,”  muttered  Mrs.  Paynter  to  herself. 
“ Whoever  made  her  up  deserves  great  credit.  It  will  all  do  very  well ; there’s  much 
virtue  in  a decent  milliner.” 

The  ceremony  commenced ; and,  as  the  officiating  olergyman  recited  the  words,  * If 
either  of  you  know  any  impediment  why  ye  may  not  be  lawfully  joined  together  in 
matrimony,”  Lizzie  gave  a tremendous  start.  She  had  just  discovered  Aunt  Clem 
and  her  sister  standing  below  the  steps  of  the  altar,  a little  in  the  background. 

“ John,”  she  whispered,  clutching  her  husband’s  arms,  “ stop  him.  lie  ought  to  be 
stopped ; he’s  marrying  the  wrong  woman.” 

“ She  evidently  came  here  to  be  married,  if  her  get-up  goes  for  anything,”  chuckled 
John  Paynter,  “ and  Detfield  looks  as  if  he  thought  it  all  right.” 

“ But  it  isn’t ; that’s  not  the  heiress.  Wrho  on  earth  can  it  be  ? ” 

At  this  minute,  in  answer  to  the  minister’s  summons,  Mr.  Roxby  advanced  to  give 
Bessie  away.  It  occasioned  a slight  change  in  her  position ; the  veil  fell  rather  more 
back,  and  her  face  was  turned  towards  Mrs.  Paynter. 

“ A sweetly  pretty  girl,”  murmured  the  lady  eotto  voce ; “ but  who  c an  she  be  ? 
That’s  not  Miss  Clementina  Stanbury.”  x 
“ It  must  be,”  replied  her  husband.  “ But  listen.” 

Mrs.  Paynter  did,  attentively,  until  she  heard  Bessie,  in  low,  tremulous  tones, 
repeat : — 


251 


A Gay  Wedding. 

“ I,  Elizabeth  Jane,  take  thee,  Charles,”  etc. 

“If  this  is  a Miss  Stanbuiy,  John,  I never  heard  of  her,”  she  whispered,  stlemoly. 
“ Poor  Charlie ! he’s  made  a mess  of  it,  as  usual.  That  girl’s  far  too  pretty  to  be  an 
heiress.  Depend  upon  it,  he’s  marrying  just  what  will  pay  his  debts,  instead  of  the 
nugget  he  ought  to  have  done.  So  like  him,”  she  continued,  with  a slight  touch  of 
asperity ; “ always  caught  by  a good-looking  face  to  the  utter  destruction  of  his  real 
interests.  ’ 

The  ceremony  is  over,  and  the  guests  crowd  back  to  Roseneath  House  for  breakfast. 
Mr.  Roxby  proposes  the  health  of  the  happy  couple  in  a glowing  speech,  dwelling 
much  upon  the  amiable  and  endearing  qualities  of  the  bride.  He  gives  the  company 
to  understand  that  she  has  been  to  him  as  a daughter,  and  that  the  only  consolation  he 
has  on  parting  with  her  is,  that  he  gives  her  to  the  man  of  her  choice,  — his  noble, 
manly-hearted,  gallant  young  friend,  Captain  Detfield;  with  which  peroration,  and 
cowering  his  face  with  a white  handkerchief,  Mr.  Roxby  sits  down. 

There  is  a slightly  humorous  smile  on  Charlie’s  lips  as  he  presents  his  wife  to  Mrs. 
Paynte:  some  few  minutes  before  their  departure. 

“ A very  old  friend,  Bessie,  who,  I trust,  will  allow  us  to  call  upon  her  on  our 
return.” 

Lizzie  bows,  smiles,  expresses  a hope  of  making  Mrs.  Detfield’s  acquaintance  really, 
when  she  gets  back  again,  and  cannot  refrain  from  shaking  her  head  in  mock  admo- 
nition of  her  whilom  admirer. 

“ Much  too  nice  for  you,  sir,”  she  murmurs,  as  she  bids  him  good-by.  “ I only 
hope,  Charlie,  she  has  some  money.  Miss  Clementina  looks  so  much  more  like  it.” 

Wedding  breakfasts  are  not  usually  festive  entertainments.  Sustained  by  copious 
libations  of  champagne,  we  always  endeavor  strenuously  to  suppose  they  are ; but  who 
is  there  over  thirty  that  does  not  shiver  at  the  idea  of  having  to  assist  at  one  ? Still 
this  was  marked  by  some  hilarity. 

Mr.  Roxby  naturally  conceived  that  the  -whole  affair  was  under  his  special  patron- 
age. He  became  simply  speechless  with  wrath  when  Mr.  Fox  Brine,  who  had  figured 
in  the  character  of  best  man,  took  the  whole  conduct  of  the  feast  completely  out  of  his 
hands;  insisted,  contrary  to  all  etiquette,  upon  proposing  the  health  of  the  brides- 
maids ; and  then  called  upon  Mr.  Turbottle  (who  he  had  already  whispered  it  about 
was  a rich,  but  eccentric  cousin)  to  return  thanks. 

How  Mr.  Turbottle,  warmed  with  wine,  entered  heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  pro- 
ceedings, and,  falling  back  upon  his  old  profession,  commenced  disposing  of  the 
bridesmaids  as  so  many  lots,  till  compelled  to  sit  down  by  the  ubiquitous  Brine,  mus 
have  been  seen  to  be  believed. 

At  last  the  bride  descends,  attired  for  the  road.  A tear  or  two  glisten  in  Misa 
Matilda’s  eyes,  and  Aunt  Clem  gives  vent  to  palpable  sobs ; hearty  hand-squeezes,  a 
somewhat  faltering  cheer;  an  old  shoe,  maladroitly  thrown,  catches  Mr.  Roxby, 
posed  majestically  at  the  carriage-door,  in  the  waistcoat;  crack  goes  the  whip,  and 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Detfield  have  departed  for  the  Continent, 


Two  Kisses. 


252 


CHAPTER  XL  VI. 

RECONCILIATION. 

As  may  be  supposed,  Fox  Brine’s  intelligence  was  correct.  Montague  Gore  had 
awoke,  and  was  in  possession  of  his  senses ; that  is,  so  far  as  a man  reduced  to  utter 
prostration  can  be  said  to  be  possessed  of  them,  — possession,  in  his  case,  mean? ng  little 
more  than  an  indistinct  craving  for  nourishment  and  stimulant,  coupled  with  a decided 
and  overpowering  desire  for  more  sleep. 

When  Mrs.  Gore  assumed  her  place  at  her  husband’s  bedside,  he  was  once  more  far 
away  in  the  realm  of  Oneiros,  and  some  hours  elapsed  before  he  again  opened  his 
eyes,  and  looked  dreamily  about  him. 

Too  weak  almost  to  whisper,  too  weak  almost  to  move,  yet  there  was  a soft  gleam 
of  recognition  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  his  wife’s  heart  filled  with  exultation  as  the  pale 
lips  faintly  syllabled : — 

“ Cissy.” 

He  had  for  the  present  utterly  forgotten  all  the  suspicious  complications  that  hat 
preceded  his  illness ; he  recognized  nothing  but  that  the  woman  he  so  passionately 
loved  was  watching  over  him ; that  it  was  her  hand  that  smoothed  his  pillow,  her 
hand  that  lifted  the  cup  to  his  lips. 

Days  roll  by,  and  inch  by  inch  Montague  Gore  wins  his  way  back  from  the  dread 
border-land,  where  he  has  lingered  so  long.  Ever,  as  he  recognizes  the  untiring  devo- 
tion of  his  wife,  does  he  strive  to  put  on  one  side  those  dim  memories  of  some  grave 
wrong  done  to  him  by  Cissy  before  he  fell  ill. 

It  is  not  all  clear  to  him  yet,  but  recollection  is  slowly  returning,  and  troubles  him 
like  a horrible  nightmare.  Indeed  he  tries  to  persuade  himself  that  the  whole  thing 
is  a mere  phantasm  of  the  brain,  — a lingering  remnant  of  the  delirium  that  had 
possessed  him. 

Cissy,  with  her  keen,  watchful,  loving  glance,  is  not  blind  to  what  is  passing  within 
her  husband’s  mind.  She  herself  is  thirsting  for  an  explanation,  and  only  awaits  his 
being  stronger  to  make  full  confession.  But  she  judges  rightly ; it  is  best  not  to  hurry 
such. 

“ It  must  be  of  that  sort,”  thinks  Cissy,  “ which  shall  leave  no  room  for  another  as 
long  as  Montague  and  I may  live.” 

The  time  comes,  one  bright  day  at  the  beginning  of  October.  Montague  has  been 
out  for  a drive,  and  the  crisp,  sharp  air  has  sent  the  sluggish  blood  once  more  like 
quicksilver  through  its  channels;  one  of  those  days  upon  which  we  feel  our  vitality; 
when  the  animal  runs  riot  in  our  veins ; when  we  revel  in  sheer  consciousness  that  we 
are  alive;  one  of  those  days  when  a convalescent  gulps  down  huge  draughts  of 
strength  and  health,  and  literally  leaps,  instead  of  progresses,  towards  recovery. 


Reconciliation . 


253 


Montague  Gore  is  sitting  by  the  window,  looking  lazily  out  at  the  passers-by,  when 
he  is  aroused  from  his  abstraction  by  the  light  touch  of  his  wife’s  hand. 

“ Montie,”  she  says  gently,  “ I want  to  talk  to  you.  I think  now  you  are  strong 
enough  to  hear  what  I have  in  my  heart  to  say  to  you;  what  I have  been  yearning 
to  say  to  you  for  weeks  past.” 

He  said  nothing,  but  the  dark  eyes  gazed  curiously  into  her  face,  and  there  was  a 
troubled  expression  about  the  brow. 

“ I know,”  she  said,  “ now,  of  what  the  world  held  me  guilty,  when  I left  you,  just 
before  your  illness.  I had  no  idea  what  was  thought  of  my  flight  then,  but  my  eyes 
have  been  fully  opened  since.  Montague,”  she  continued,  taking  his  hand  between 
her  own,  “ that  I am  innocent  of  aught  but  foolishness,  my  being  here  this  instant  is 
proof.  Were  I a guilty  woman,  I should  never  have  dared  enter  your  presence 
again.  I am  free  to  speak  now ; to  tell  you  that  my  supposed  lover  is  my  father 
Remember,  it  might  well  never  occur  to  me  that  you  should  attribute  such  a character 
to  him.  As  soon  as  the  scandal  reached  our  ears,  my  father  came  forward  and  told 
our  story  to  your  most  intimate  friends,  and  they  at  once  did  me  justice.  Why  he 
wished  his  existence  kept  a secret  he  shall  explain  to  you  himself  shortly.” 

“ But  what  made  you  run  away  ? ” inquired  Gore. 

“ Because  I was  desperately  in  love  with  my  husband,”  replied  Cissy,  blushing. 

“ A most  singular  way  of  showing  it,”  said  Montague,  smiling. 

“ But  you  know  it  is  so  ? ” exclaimed  Cissy,  eagerly. 

“ I know  that  you  have  taken  very  great  care  of  me  lately,  and  are  the  best  and 
dearest  nurse  in  England,”  said  Gore ; “ but  still  I don’t  understand  why,  loving  me, 

you  should  run  away.” 

“Because  I was  a goose  — because  you  shouldn’t  have  glass  doors  in  your  cham- 
bers— because  I was  jealous  — because  you  have  no  right  to  — ” and  here  Cissy 
crimsoned  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

“ No  right  to  what  ? ” inquired  Gore,  fairly  bewildered. 

“ No  right  to  kiss  any  woman  but  me.” 

What  Mrs.  Paynter  would  have  thought,  had  she  known  it,  one  can’t  imagine ; but, 
sad  to  say,  Montague,  at  the  moment,  had  really  forgotten  all  about  that  unlucky 
salute,  which  had  led  to  so  much  mischief.  Had  there  been  an}^  remnant  of  jealousy 
still  lurking  in  Cissy’s  breast  it  must  have  been  dissipated  by  the  utter  want  of 
comprehension  visible  in  her  husband’s  countenance.  Lizzie  had  undoubtedly  told 
her  the  truth ; it  was  palpable  that  kiss  earned  no  recollections  with  it. 

“ I don’t  understand,  Cissy,”  he  murmured,  at  last. 

" Ah ! you  will,  if  you  think  of  the  day  Lizzie  Paynter  came  down  to  see  you  in  the 
Temple,  and  reflect  that  you  have  badly  glazed  doors  to  your  rooms.  I shall  run 
•way  now,  Montie ; when  I come  back,  you  will  know  all  about  it.” 

When  Cissy  returned,  her  husband  had  remembered  all ; but  it  made  their  recon- 
ciliation no  less  complete,  and  Montague  Gore  knew  that  his  wife’s  heart  was  his  at 

f|*fc 


7 '777* 

254  Two  Kisses. 

A little  later,  and  the  major  called  and  told  his  story,  explained  his  somewhat  far- 
strained  reasons  for  keeping  his  existence  so  long  a secret,  and  handed  over  his 
trust.  WhatS7er  his  intentions  might  at  one  time  have  been  concerning  it, 
he  had  been  scrupulously  honest,  and  the  moneys  derived  from  the  big  farm  in 
Nottinghamshire,  which  constituted  Cissy’s  settlement,  were  lying  untouched  in  the 
names  of  himself  and  Mr.  Turbottle  at  the  Nottingham  bankers’,  to  whom  they  had 
been  paid  of  late. 

During  Mark  Ilemsworth’s  life  they  had,  of  course,  been  lodged  in  his  name.  It 
was  only  after  his  death,  and  in  complete  ignorance  of  what  had  become  of  the 
widow,  that  the  bankers  had  opened  an  account  with  the  trustees.  Of  these,  of 
course,  the  major  had  been  the  most  active  agent ; and  it  was  not  till  Fox  Brine’s 
vituperation  of  him  at  Coleman’s  that  Mr.  Turbottle  conceived  it  was  possible  that 
he  could  meditate  wronging  his  daughter. 

The  little  man  had  been  much  disturbed  at  that  idea,  and  had  meditated  putting 
himself  into  communication  with  Brine,  when  the  major’s  sudden  visit,  prior  to  the 
explanation  at  the  Paynters’,  had  once  more  convinced  him  that  Claxby  Jenkens 
was  loyal  to  Cissy. 

Mr.  Roxby  had,  at  one  time,  conceived  serious  thoughts  of  levanting  to  America ; 
but  he  reflected  that  there  was  an  extradition  treaty  with  that  country,  and  that 
Simmonds  was  likely  to  be  a relentless  foe.  He  accordingly  stood  to  his  bargain,  and 
is  yet  a shining  light  in  the  financial  world.  Simmonds  and  his  old  friend,  Claxby 
Jenkens,  alone  being  aware  how  near  he  once  was  to  obtaining  “ permanent  employ- 
ment” in  one  of  her  majesty’s  convict  establishments. 

In  conclusion,  I can  only  add  that  Mr.  Fox  Brine’s  novel  is  still  anxiously  awaited 
by  his  friends  and  acquaintance.  Perhaps,  with  the  American  humorist,  he  holds 
that  if  to  publish  seldom  be  good,  to  publish  seldomer  must  be  better. 


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